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LOCAL LOITERINGS, 

' / 



AND VISITS 



IN THE VICINITY OF BOSTON. 



BY A LOOKEE-ON. 






BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY REDDING & CO. 

No. 8 State Street. 

1845. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, 

By redding & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Disti-ict of Massachusetts. 



Boston t 

rrinted by S. N. Dickinson &. Co. 

No. 52 Washington St. 



^ \ 



Hon. abbot LAWRENCE, 



OF BOSTON, 



THIS LITTLE VOLUME 



IS, WITH GREAT RESPECT, INSCRIBED BY 



THE AUTHOE. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Introductory Chapter, 9 

A Visit to Mount Auburn, 17 

" " " concluded, . , . . .26 

Lexington and its Battle Ground, 34 

A Trip to Lowell, 44 

A Visit to South Boston, 51 

Boston Common — A Walk and a Talk about it, . . 61 

A Trip to Nahant, 68 

Lowell Mills, and the Millocract. 75 

The State Prison, 83 

A Visit to the State Prison. — A Prison Poet, . . .89 

A Visit to the Farm School, 98 

A Visit to the Chinese Museum, 105 

A Sunday at Old Ipswich, 113 

A Sabbath in Boston, 122 

A Street Gossip, 130 

Musings by the Merrimack, 138 



1 



' Many a time, Sir, I have walked the streets, and, day-dream- 
ing, have fashioned to myself the doings, the hopes, and cares of 
thp householders. To my fancy, the brick walls of the houses 
have turned to glass, and I have seen all that passed inside.' 

Douglas Jerrold. 



LOCAL LOITERINGS. 



INTRODUCTORY CliAPTER. 



The reader -vvlio maj be inclined to keep my company 
whilst in this series of papers I shall go through the lengths 
and breadths of this populous city, must not expect to be 
entertained by startling talcs or novel incidents. I have 
no ' Mysteries ' of Boston to relate, no melodramatic do- 
ings to chronicle. I am a plain man, and shall have to do 
with plain matters, with common facts. If, therefore, the 
reader be willing, on these conditions, to ' lend me his 
ears,' well ; but if records of every-day subjects, and 
chronicles of common things, possess no interest for him, 
we had better at once pursue different paths, than run the 
risk of falling out on our journey. 

And it is really wonderful how many objects of interest 
lie in and about our daily paths, and how much amuse- 
ment and instruction we might derive from them, if we 
would but slightly exercise our reflective faculties ; we 
are too apt to fly in search of excitement to far-away 
scenes, forgetting that our sympathies may be more profit- 
ably enlisted by objects long familiar and near at hand. 



10 IXTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

For the observing man, every locality possesses so7ne at- 
traction, and there is no place so mean that it may not 
afford material for wholesome thought. 

I have always been partial to great cities, not that I 
dislike the coimtry — far from it ; for few, when they 
have left the hot, dusty, brick and mortar Babylons far 
behind them, enjoy more than I do the fresh breeze as it 
sweeps over the heath, or comes rushing up the mountain 
side, ' with healing on its wings.' And then how glorious 
it is to dive into grand, dim, old woods, when the slant 
sunbeams are falling on the trunks of giant trees, and 
thousands of bright-winged creatures go glancing by. 
Pleasant is it to saunter through 

' Verdurous glooms and grinding mossy ways,' 

absorbed in a half dreamy kind of melancholy. I say all 
this is delightful enough, at least to me, for a season ; but 
I confess that after such sylvan enjoyments, I always re- 
turn with renewed zest to my 

' endless meal of brick.' 



I am not going to enter into a comparison between the 
pleasures of a city and country life. My purpose in the 
following papers will be chiefly to illustrate the former — - 
to take continually-occurring matters for my subjects, and 
chat on them in an easy every-day manner. I am a plain 
writer, and make no pretensions to style in these ' Loiter- 
ings,' which will, I imagine, owe any interest they may 
chance to possess, to the locahties they illustrate. 

Cities, like individuals, have characters ; some are great 
overgrown places, where men go on hurrying, driving, and 



INTBODUCTORY CHAPTER. 11 

tolling, from morning till night, to build up Mammon's 
temple — thousands upon thousands, dropping hourly from 
the scaffolding, and thousands more stepping on it to fill 
their places. In these great workshops of the world, mind 
is hammered down to a goldleaf thinness, so that a few 
grains of it are made to cover a vast extent of surface. 
The Physical preponderates over the Intellectual ; and 
the masses congregated in such places are usually burly 
talkers, noisy theorists, but seldom profound thinkers. 
Other cities have a light and fantastic character — every 
house seems as if it were made of filagree work, and the 
inhabitants move as upon wires. Fashion, folly, and friv- 
olity are the presiding deities, and many are their woi"- 
shippers. To these a strildng contrast is afforded by 
learned localities, where grave, thoughtful-eyed men, glide 
slowly through the gloom of cloisters, and across quadran- 
gles surrounded by small-windowed chambers, in which 
the lore of ages has been nursed. Fme old places are 
these ! One cannot move half a street without beholding 
some ancient seat of learning ; and as gotliic turret and 
tower fling their broad shadows on our pathway, they 
waken recollections of the wise and good Avho trod those 
pavements long ago. 

I shall ever remember the delight with which I paced 
the streets of Oxford and of Cambridge, and how I made 
unto myself fading images of Newton, and Bacon, and 
Locke, and a whole host of illustrious men who in those 
ancient seats of learning had drank deeply from the fomi- 
tains of philosophy and science. Every spot in those 
places was hallowed by association — here Raleigh ha,d 
lingered — there Sidney had walked — j^onder the room 
which Byron occupied — and close by was Gray's favorite 



12 INTKODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

resort ; men who had moved mankind or nations bj their 
powers had here received their eagle strength, and the 
places which knew them seemed yet to be vocal with their 
praise. 

I have visited many large cities in Europe, and each of 
them is associated m my mind with some distinct trait of 
city-character. And so has it been with respect to the 
cities of America, which I have as yet seen. Wlien I 
landed in New York, and walked through its busy and 
thronged streets, its hurrying, driving, bustling, sliifting, 
floating, semi-migratory population at once indicated its 
commercial bearing. There could be no mistake about 
the matter, for business lines were so unmistakably ruled 
on the faces of every one I met, that it only required a 
few figures to be added to make their faces perfect fac- 
similes of the page of a ledger. There were long inter- 
minable streets, with warehouses on each side, built so 
high up that the sky beyond looked like a strip of blue 
ribbon — perspiring porters, with mighty loads, met one 
at every step, and monstrovis wheels threatened you every 
instant with annihilation — ^ anxious-looldng men rushed 
violently in and out of countmg rooms, where sallow- 
visaged mortals, perched on high stools, peered curiously 
up and down pages crowded with figures and mystical 
marks. On tlije bright broad river a thousand canvass 
wings were expanded, and the Genius of Steam, at man's 
bidding, poured the treasures of the four quarters of the 
globe at his feet. JNIoney I money ! money ! was the god 
of every man's idolatry, from the merchant who risked 
millions of dollars every day, to the ragged boys about the 
wharves, who speculated with their last cent. 

How difi"erent to Philadelphia ! The city of brotherly 



INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 13 

love has, or had, a quiet, demure sedateness about it. 
There is every where, excepting just in the most commer- 
cial parts, an air of gentihty which is not to be found in 
the Empire City. Its long, regular streets give it quite 
a formal appearance, which is increased by the quamt 
quaker garbs which envelope so many of its citizens. 
And it is so exquisitely neat, one might easily imagine 
that every house was under the especial care of some 
scrubljing deity. The spirit of Quakerism seems to brood 
over it, and a ' yea,' or ' nay,' is absolutely looked for as 
a matter of course. 

The appearance of Boston is widely diiferent from 
either. No one can reside in the City of Notions for a 
week without noting the air of refinement which exists al- 
most every where. Less bustling than New York, and 
more commercial-looking than Philadelphia, it possesses 
advantages enjoyed by neither. The habits of the passers 
by, too, are at once seen to vary from those in the cities 
I have referred to. In New York, if a stranger is asked 
in the street, for a direction to any particular point, ten 
to one but the person of whom he inquired, would give 
him a short, sharp, business-hke answer, and then hurry 
on at a railroad pace, careless whether he was understood 
or not — in nine cases out of ten it would be impossible to 
do so. In Philadelphia, the person inquired of would 
survey the querist for a few seconds before replying, and 
then enunciate his words so slowly that the former part of 
his direction would be forgotten before the latter Avas ut- 
tered. In Boston, the plain information required would 
be given so promptly and courteously that nothing could 
be left to be desired. 

The appearance of Boston, too, is very different to any 





14 IXTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

other American city which I have visited. It is more 
Enghsh in its appearance, and on a foggy, damp, busy 
day, a stranger near Faneuil Hall might fancy himself in 
London. It was quite delightful to me, after I had for 
some time paced the ' distractingly regular ' streets of 
Philadelphia, as Dickens calls them, to get into thorough- 
fares of which I could not see the beginning nor end, and 
which were not quite flat throughout their whole length. 

There was one old house at the corner of Ann street 
which I fell in with in one of my rambles, that really was 
a source of great and pecuhar delight to me. There 
were hundreds of better houses all about its neighborhood, 
houses which made great pretensions, and seemed to look 
down on their antiquated neighbor with contempt. They 
were houses of property, too, and showed ofi" their glitter- 
ing wares as if in very mockery of the humble pointed- 
gabled house, which boasted only a few bags of feathers, 
that blocked up its dingy windows, or were piled round 
its low door-way. There were evident symptoms of old 
age and decrepitude also about the dwelling I aUude to — > 
the foundations had given way, and it leaned on one side ; 
a date was inscribed in old-fashioned figures on the front, 
and it was innocent of jauntily painted blinds. But dingy, 
and battered, and old, as it was, it had a charm for me, 
it was so like the hundreds and thousands of houses which 
I had played about and lived amongst years ago. For all 
I knew, it might have been one of them, transported by 
magical means from the midst of London, and dropped 
down where it then was. I looked at it as an old friend, 
and momentarily expected to be asked in — but the mists 
which fancy had thrown around it gradually cleared away, 
and near it stood Faneuil Hall, and a cold east wind blew 



INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 15 

in my teeth ; and a boy at my elbow, bawled out, ' News- 
papers, Sir — latest news from Europe,' and I became 
fully aware of the fact that I was at that moment in New, 
and not in Old England. 

Well, it is my intention to ' loiter,' for a season, in this 
delightful city, to saunter through its busy streets, finding 
here a little and there a Httle — to thread its obscure lanes 
and thoroughfares, where poor men hve, and where the 
hard realities of life knock daily, hourly, as Douglas Jer- 
rold says, at people's hearts — where men and women 
seem only made to work, and eat, and sleep, and die. I 
want to display life as it is, not as it is too often depicted ; 
and there are scenes in life's drama always being enacted 
within our own spheres, which are little dreamed of by 
casual passers-by. Seeing and observing are very difter- 
ent affairs. Thousands use their eyes — scarcely one in 
a thousand does so to any good or useful purpose. 

Dickens says, in his ' American Notes,' ' I sincerely 
believe that the pubhc institutions and charities of this 
capital of Massachusetts are as nearly perfect as the most 
considerate wisdom, benevolence, and humanity can make 
them. I never in my life was more affected by the con- 
templation of happiness, under circvimstances of privation 
and bereavement, than in my visits to these establish- 
ments.' This is most true — but how many hundreds are 
there in Boston who know little or nothing of these insti- 
tutions, which are an honor to their city, and which com- 
mand the respect and admiration of all who ^isit it from 
afar ? To promote a popular knowledge of these inter- 
esting places, is one of my purposes. In this series of 
papers, familiar visits to the various institutions will be 
recorded, their histories briefly sketched, and any points 



16 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

of interest connected with them, alluded to, not as a diy 
matter of statistics, but with a view to amusement as well 
as information. 

There are many places of note, too, in the beautiful 
neighborhood of Boston, pregnant with interest, and hal- 
lowed by association. Cambridge, for instance, with its 
University and her long list of learned sons, many of 
whose names shine like stars in the hemisphere of genius. 
Then there is Breed's hill, with its revolutionary associa- 
tions, and Mount Auburn, with its chasteinng and pensive 
influences. Great national establishments, too, are in our 
neighborhood, each of which will well repay |;he trouble 
of a visit. Lowell and its factories are almost at our 
doors — in short, the material for a busy pen are plenty, 
and will be ' used up.' 

So much by way of preface. And now having declared 
my intentions, may I beg the favor of the reader's com- 
pany to Mount Auburn, which will form the subject of 
my next paper. 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 17 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 



' Here rest tlie sleepers in a sweet repose, 
Sunshine upon theii' graves, and silence holy, 
Shedding around a chastened melancholy. 

* * * * 

* * * * 

Here would I rest when life's brief pilgrimage 

Is ever ended — flowers above me springing ; 

O'er-canopied by green or russet leaves j 

With melodies on slumberous summer eves, 

Like notes from angel's harps, when homeward winging 

Their radiant flight, their golden lyres they sweep, 

And join the bird of night in her sweet singing.' — Anon. 

A bright, glad morning in the young Spring ! The sun 
is pouring down a flood of radiance on the laughing earth, 
and on every leaf which is dancing in light above our heads, 
drops of dew glitter like diamonds. There is life, joyous 
life beneath, around, and above uS' — insects chirp in the 
grass — the dusky turtle goes on his rustling way amongst 
the dead leaves of last Autumn — ])right-eyed, variegat- 
ed squirrels run gracefully up the boles of trees, or peer 
curiously out from amongst tufted grass — bright-winged 
birds glance athwart the leafy gloom, singing a Avelcome 
to the flowers — and the bee goes by, honey-laden, with a 
cheerful hum ■ — < men of business or pleasure sweep along 
the hot, dusty road ; yes, every thing tells of life but yon 
2* 



18 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBUElSr. 

granite gateway, which looms up in all its gloomy grand- 
eur, and exhibits on its front the awful emblems of Time 
and Eternity ! It stands like a solemn milestone on life's 
broad highway, intimating to every traveller that he is 
another stage nearer the end of his journey, and that 
when the weary race shall terminate, ' Then shall the 

DUST RETURN TO THE EARTH AS IT WAS, AND THE SPIRIT 
SHALL RETURN TO GOD WHO GAVE IT.' 

Many a time have I shudderingly passed by the old 
grave yards of London. Horrible places are they. I 
have one of them now in my mind's eye — it is situated 
in one of the most densely populated portions of the me- 
tropolis, between Fleet street and Holborn, surrounded by 
high, dark dwellings, whose smoky walls frown upon the 
small patch of mortality, for every lump of the dark clay 
is merely crushed bones, held together by greasy, tena- 
cious clay. Not a blade of grass cheers that lonely char- 
nel house, but its black, uneven surface lies bare to the 
sun whenever that luminary can pierce the mass of fog 
and mist which envelopes the overgrown city. The few 
stones which lie here and there, bearing frail records of 
scarcely more enduring love, are broken and defaced, or 
seem ' tottering to their fall.' One miserable, stunted 
tree, with blackened trunk and leafless boughs, remains ■ — ■ 
a horrible libel upon vegetation. Altogether it is indeed 
' a place of darkness and a scull.' 

How different the beautiful but solemn cemetery which 
Ave are now entering ! It was a sweet and graceful 
thought to contemplate such a place for the last repose of 
the beloved — a spot where their flesh might rest in hope, 
and where sorrowers might repair in a spirit of cheerful 
resignation to sanctify their graves by memorials of af- 



A VISIT TO MOUXT AUBURN. 19 

fection. As poor Keats said, ' It would almost make one 
in love with death to be buried in so sweet a place.' 

I shall not classify this stroll through the cemetery 
of Mount Auburn by regularly recording my progress 
thi-ough the avenues, or the walks, or by the sheets of 
water, as described in the guide books, but quietly saun- 
tering on, I shall simply notice such monuments as at- 
tacted me at a glance, and record the feelings to wliich 
they gave birth. I would just remark that I never knew 
one of those who lie around in dreamless sleep. In tliis 
city of the dead I stand a living stranger, almost as dead 
to the dwellei-s on this vast continent as those beneath the 
sod. Let but this heart cease to l)eat for a moment, and 
I should be more lonely than most of the sleepers here, 
for the footfall of casual acquaintance or the subdued 
eloquence of loving hearts is seldom heard near the stran- 
ger's grave. 

Almost the first monument which attracts me is one of 
plain marble, Avith an inscription to the memory of Rich- 
ard Haugiiton, who, we are informed, once conducted 
the Atlas newspaper. What a change ! The life of toil, 
struggle, perpetual effort, patient endurance, and ever- 
beginning, never-ending la])or, such as a public journalist 
only can know, exchanged for the (piiet of the tomb ! 
The keen Avatcher of events, the philanthropic enquirer 
after truth, the sagacious detector of abuses, the con- 
troller of a mighty engine, lies powerless, passionless, and 
all serene, while the strife of faction, and the jarring of 
conflicting political elements goes on, and the rumbling of 
the mighty car on which the great Juggernauts of party 
ride, is heard, as the ponderous fabric is dragged along 
by its milhons of devotees, who alternately shriek out their 



20 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

paeans of victory, or yell in fierce defiance as their bodies 
are crushed by the Deity they adore, Avhilst it moves in- 
exorably onward, its wheels axle deep in the blood of 
victims, and the groanings of blasted hopes, and crushed 
ambition sounding their sad music upon the terrible path- 
way. 

A little further on, is a monument to one who passed 
away early, Mary Sargent, aged 23 ; and near it a 
chaste sarcophagus bears a name familiar to me from my 
boyhood, and linked with high and holy thoughts. When 
I read in far distant England the works of William El- 
LERY Channing, and experienced the serene delight 
which the transparent purity of his style never failed to 
afford, I little imagined that I ever should be a pilgrim at 
his sepulchre. But ' He being dead yet speaketh,' for 
when such men die their very graves are vocal, and of 
them it may well be said, in the words of a great old Eng- 
lish poet, 

' The memoi'ies of the just 
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.' 

From the tomb of the profound thmker and eloquent 
preacher, I passed to the grave of youth and beauty. 
Beneath a marble canopy, over which was a carved urn, 
and supported by pillars, lies the recumbent statue of a 
little child. And there, a marble repose is the effigy of 
the loved and lost. The child is represented as slumber- 
ing on a bed, and so beautifully is this work of art execut- 
ed, that the cherub form seems to rest in perfect peace 
upon a downy couch. The name ' Emily,' is carved on 
the side of the tomb — nothing more ; and it is quite 
enough, for it has a world of meaning in it. It tells of 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 21 

the father's solemn agony and the mother's voiceless woe. 
That child was all the world to them, and the wide- 
extended globe held for them, amongst all its uncounted 
millions, but one ' Emily.' What need, then, of a more 
particular description of the perished little one ? As I 
stand by her place of rest, I can see the little girl with 
her laughing eyes and flowing locks, making the house 
merry with her own gladness. I hear her ringing laugh- 
ter, and catch the sunshine of her looks. Her light step 
is on the stair, and her tiny foot-fall makes her mother's 
heart to leap for joy. But ' the spoiler' came, and 

They laid her on her little grave, 

Amid the flowers of Spring, 
When the green corn began to wave, 
And the glad birds to sing — 
And happy voices were around 
When hers was silent us the ground. 

Sweet, laughing child! thy nursciy door 

Stands free and open now. 
But all ! its sunshine gilds no more 
The gladness of thy brow — 
Thy merry stcj) hath passed away, 
Thy pleasant voice is hushed for aye. 

Oh ! when the pleasant summer mom 

Shines over wood and fell, 
And far along the corn-fields borne 
Is heard the village bell ; 
When the loud wagon is laid by. 
And wearied beasts rest quietly, 

They never more shall carry thee 

To listen to the psalm 
Which o'er the meads and sheep-strewn lea 

Floats in the summer calm ; 



22 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

Their echoes reach thy mother's room, 
But oh ! they breathe above thy tomb ! 

Thy mother by the fireside sits 

And listens for thy call, 
And slowly — slowly as she knits, ♦ 
Her quiet tears down fall. 
Her little hindering thing is gone, 
And undistm-bed she may work on. 

There is something very touching in the deaths of httle 
children, but many consolations grow like sweet flowers 
from their graves. In the Rev. R. C. Waterston's essay 
on this subject, he says with equal truth and beauty, ' It 
is worthy of remembrance that children who are taken 
away by death, always remain in the memory of the pa- 
rents as children. Other children grow old ; but this one 
contmues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. 
The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step, sees 
its silken hair, and clear bright eyes, — aU just as they 
were. Ten and twenty years may go by, the chUd still 
remains in the memory as at first — a bright, happy 
child.' 

On little ' Emily's ' tomb is the following verse : 

' Shed not for her the bitter tear, 

Nor give the heart to vain regret ; 
'T is but the casket that lies here ; 

The gem that filled it sparkles yet.' 

I am a great admirer of simple epitaphs. In an old 
churchyard in South Wales, I once met with one on a 
simple stone, which affected me deeply. It told more 
about the parents' sorrow for their lost infant, than the 



J 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 23 

most labored epitaph could possibly have done. In the 
old quaint spelHng, on a plain slab, was carved in rude 
letters only the words 

* mcac ariiilbc ! ' 

Wliat could be more pathetic, excepting perhaps the 
foUoAving, which I saw in Kensal Green Cemetery, in the 
Harrow Road, London — 

' To THE MEMORY OF LITTLE KaTE.' 

At the Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, I also no- 
ticed one of those touching inscriptions. A wliite marble 
slab has on it a simple word, 

' Willie.' 

That was all -— it told plainly enough to thoughtful 
hearts, that bright, golden-haired, wee ' Willie,' in spite 
of love, had gone down in life's young spring, to darknes8 
and the worm. 

There are many plots of ground laid out which are as 
yet untenanted — many sepulchres built whose portals 
have not as yet opened to receive the silent guests. I 
looked into one of these latter, and actually shuddered as 
I beheld the brick recesses all in readiness to receive 
those who were now living, healthy, life-enjoying people. 
There was a wealthy looking personage giving directions 
about the structure as calmly as if it had been a grotto. 
He entered the gloomy place, examined the brick-work, 
made business-like remarks upon the mortar, and actually 
measured one of the coffin recesses. It was his own fami- 
ly receptacle. The bare idea of the spot where I may be 
deposited after death is horrible to me, and how any one 
can criticise the cavern of moi-talityl cannot imagine. I 



24 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

have, and always have had, more horror of the grave than 
fear of that which will compel me to become its tenant. 

Here is a noticeable monviment — an elegant but plain 
oblong marble sarcophagus, erected, I am informed, at 
the expense of Hon. WilUam Sturgis, of tliis city. There 
is no labored epitaph upon it ; no foolish attempt to laud 
the unconscious sleeper below ■ — and it is well. Nothing 
excites my contempt more than those graven and gilded 
sentences sometimes to be found over rich men's graves, 
and which make their subjects seem almost divine. The 
name of ' Spurzheim ' is the only inscription on the beau- 
tiful and beautifully situated monument. 

This true Philosopher, and really great man, needs no 
eulogy of mine. His name and fame is world property. 
Far from home, but surrounded by friends, he drew his 
last breath in the neighboring city, whilst engaged in the 
search after Truth. A Avorshipper at the shrine of Sci- 
ence, he persisted in the ardor of his devotion until he 
sank a martyr on its altar. 

' From the bright home that gave him birth, 
A pilgrim o'er the ocean wave, 
He came, to find in other earth, 
A stranger's grave.' 

Near Spurzheim's monviment is one of those emblems, 
now so common in our cemeteries, of death in youth, a bro- 
ken shaft, — and I know of few more graceful and appro- 
priate ; but unfortunately, so many bereaved friends have 
chosen this style of monument, that its very commomiess 
detracts from the impressiveness intended to be produced. 
One or two emblematic memorials of this kind, are quite 
enough in a cemetery, for Avhere there are many they do 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 25 

not group well, and a stiflF and formal effect is produced. 
The one I now particularly refer to is exceedingly well 
executed, and bears the name of Mary A. Coleman. On 
three sides of the base are some elegiac lines. 

On the brink of Garden Pond, a quiet and lovely 
spot, is a plain Sarcophagus, of freestone, with the name 
of William Gallagher inscribed on it. It seems to 
have been erected by some friends, ' who although con- 
nected with him by no tics of kindred, loved and honored 
him.' Some well meaning but indifferent lines, eulogized 
the deceased. 

Let us set down for awhile, and beneath the grateful 
shadow of these trees, read the Thanatopsis. It is just 
the place to peruse that fine poem of the first Poet of 
America — WilUam Cullen Bryant I for 

' To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides 
Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sha^jness ere he is aware.' 

But we have much yet to see ; many a grave is yet 
unvisited — many a record of the lost and the loved, yet 
unread. Let us move onward through these ' verdurous 
glooms' — and amidst the foliage, where monumental 
mar1)le gleams with lustrous purity, in search of ' eloquent 
teachings ; ' and, by the time we have, through circuit- 
ous paths reached the Egyptian gateway, we shall have 
gathered sufficient material for the conclusion of this re- 
verie at Mount Auburn. 
3 



26 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

[concluded.] 



' Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie, 

Life's lingering languors o'er, its labors done, 
Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky, 
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun. 

Here the long concourse from the neighboring town, 
"With funeral pace and slow, shall enter in, 

To lay the lov'd in tranquil silence down. 
No more to suffer, and no more to sin. 

And in this hallowed spot, where nature pours 
Her sweetest smiles from fair and stainless skies. 

Affection's hand may strew her dewy flo-\vers, 
Whose fragrant incense from the grave may rise.' 

Willis Gatlord Clarke. 

Somewhat refreshed by a short interval of rest, let us 
resume our wanderings amongst the tombs, and read on 
the various monuments, Mortality's title page — the his- 
tory of life written in but two chapters — Birth and 
Death ! 

Gleaming in all its lustrous purity through the light 
foliage, rises a tall marble obelisk, on whose shaft are 
carved floral emblems, and the names of four individuals, 
Lieut. Underwood, Midshipman Henry, and Messrs. Reid 
and Bacon. It is a monument without a tomb, for those 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 27 

wliose deaths it records died premature and trJigical 
deaths far away. 

Passing onward, we come upon another child's grave, 
over which is a neat marble head stone, with the inscrip 
tion J. S. B. LoTHROP, aged four years. There is a 
very pretty little carving in relief on this stone, of an 
angel- — fitting representation of the Httle one so early 
called to rest. A little way from it is a square monument 
to the memory of one who ministered in holy things, Jo- 
seph BucKMiNSTER, pastor of Brattle Street Church. 
The Christian warrior and the little child lie side by side ! 

Here is a monument to the memory of one who, we are 
told, ' came among strangers and died among friends.' 
It bears the name of Capt. Joseph Cleaveland, a vet- 
eran who travelled eight hundred miles to witness the 
celebration of the completion of the monument on Bunker 
Hill. I never saw the enthusiastic old man, but I can 
imagine his venerable figure, his gray locks streaming in 
the wind, and his sunken eye hghted up with a spark of 
the old martial glory, as he gazed on the granite shaft, 
which proudly rose on that field where freedom waved her 
glorious banner. And here, his last battle fought, he lies 
in his hero-grave at Mount Auburn ! 

I like scriptural epitaphs, and here is one. ' I know 
that my Redeemer liveth.' It is inscribed on a monu- 
ment bearing the name of N. Carruth. Such simple 
expressions of faith are far more impressive than the 
labored lines we too often see. Here is an obelisk on 
which is carved a scroll with a hand beneath it, the fore- 
finger of which points to an inscription, ' There is rest 
in Heaven.' On a slab below is the name A. Abbe. 

Sometimes in strolhng through such places as these we 



28 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

meet with devices wliich puzzle us as to their meaning, 
and here is one of the kind. A dog sculptured out of 
white marble. The animal is represented as crouched 
in a Avatchful position, but no inscription informs us 
whether the effigy is the representation of one of his race 
who lies beneath, or merely the watcher over of an at- 
tached master or mistress's remains. It is one of those 
things which seem out of keeping with the place. One 
looks at it — wonders — and passes on, none the wiser for 
having seen, and none the better for having been puzzled 
by it. 

There is more meaning and more poetry in the device 
which ornaments the base of the broken shaft, on which 
the name of Tappan is inscribed. It is a rose branch 
from whose stem a fully expanded flower and some buds 
have been rudely and prematurely broken off — emblems 
of the mother and her children, whom death had imtimely 
plucked from the sweet home garden. 

One of the most imposing monuments in the cemetery 
is a granite mausoleum to the memory of Georgina Mar- 
garet, wife of John Lowell, and also of two daughters. 
It is situated in a retu*ed spot, and there with green 
leaves fluttering overhead, and birds singing amidst the 
boughs, the mother and her cliildren he m dreamless 
sleep. 

The monument of Jesse Putnam, known as the father 
of the merchants of Boston, must not be passed by unno- 
ticed. It is a column of white Italian marble, orna- 
mented with Egyptian emblems, and overshadowed by a 
magnificent oak tree. Near this monument is one to the 
memory of the Rev. Samuel H. Stearns, who died in 
Paris, in 1837. The mortal remains of this siientleman lie 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 29 

in Pere la Chaise. He died young, and his brief life, 
though harassed bj the ills that flesh is heir to, was one 
of great usefulness. He was at one time minister of the 
Old South Church, in Boston. 

Let us tarry for a while beside this neat monument, on 
which is inscribed, ' To Hannah Adams, historian of the 
Jews, and reviewer of the Christian Sects, this is erected 
by her female friends. First tenant of Mount Auburn. 
She died Dec. 15th, 1831, aged 76.' 

I never knew this child-woman, as she might not unap- 
propriately be termed, but I have heard so much of her 
simple history, and of her personal appeai-ance, that I 
think I have a tolerably correct portrait of her hung up 
in my image chamber. I should like to have seen her 
when quaintly attired in old fashioned habiliments she 
attracted attention in the busy streets of Boston, or when 
she sat, whether in the body or out of the body, she her- 
self could scarcely tell, in her silent room, thinking of her 
dead sister, and of the luminous shadow of that beloved 
relative which once she believed appeared to her. 

Hannah Adams was one of the earliest lady writers of 
New England, when, as Mrs. Child remarks, this preju- 
dice against literary women was much stronger than now. 
Her absence of mind was remarkable, and many amusing 
instances of the ludicrous effects produced by her absen- 
teeism are recorded by Mrs. Child in the second series of 
her letters from New York, just published. Like many 
other learned people, too, she had a tinge of superstition 
ui her mental composition, for she used to tell how her 
sister promised to appear to her after death if she were 
permitted to do so. Her account of the supposed inter- 
3* 



30 A VISIT TO MOIIJ^T AUBUE^S". 

view is so interesting that I make no apology for noticing 
it here. 

' One night,' said she, ' I sat up, as I often did, read- 
ing till midnight. After I had extinguished my light and 
retired to rest, I remained wakeful for some time. My 
mind was serene and cheerful ; and I do not recollect 
that my thoughts were in any way occupied with my sis- 
ter. Presently my attention w^as arrested by a dimly 
luminous cloud, not far from the bed. I looked out, to 
see whether a light from another chamber of the house 
was reflected on my window ; but all was darkness. I 
again turned to my pillow, and saw that the luminous ap- 
pearance was brighter and visibly increased in size. The 
shutters of our old fashioned house had holes in the mid- 
dle in the shape of a heart. I thought it must be that 
the moonlight streamed through one of these, and per- 
haps shone on some white garment hanging on the wall. 
I rose and felt the wall but there was nothing there. I 
looked out of the window and saw only a cloudy midnight 
sky with here and there a solitary star. When I re- 
turned to bed, and still saw the unaccountable column of 
light, then, for the first time, a feeling of awe came over 
me. I had hitherto thought only of natural causes ; but 
now a vague idea of the supernatural began to oppress 
me. My sister's promise occurred to my mind, and made 
me afraid. A trembling came over me as I watched the 
light, and saw it become more and more distinct. It was 
not like moonlight or sunlight, I cannot describe it bet- 
ter than by comparing it to a brilliant light shining 
through thin, clear, Avlute muslin. It gradually assumed 
shape, and then slowly emerged from it, the outlines of 



J 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBimiSr. 31 

my sister's face and figure. The very strings of her cap, 
tied in a bow under her chin, were distmctly visible. A 
terrible fear weighed upon my heart like the nightmare, 
and I screamed aloud. This brought some of the family 
to me in great alarm ; but before they entered the light 
had vanished. When I told the story they said I had 
been asleep and dreaming. I felt perfectly sure that I 
had been wide awake ; but they said I was mistaken. 
After they left me for the night, I almost wished that the 
vision, if it were indeed my sister, would come again. I 
fell asleep, and dreamed of sweet intercourse with her, 
but the luminous shadoAV never came again. I cannot say 
whether it Avere dream or vision ; the subject has always 
puzzled me.' 

Such was her singular account, which I leave for others 
to speculate upon. So truthful a woman as Hannah Ad- 
ams assuredly was, could have had no object in fabricat- 
ing such a story. There are, perhaps, ' more things in 
heaven and earth ' of tliis sort ' than are dreamt of in our 
philosophy.' 

This singular woman, it is stated, corresponded with 
Mrs. Hannah More. If this be a fact, Avhere are the let- 
ters which the English authoress Avrote to her American 
sister ? They would be a valuable addition to our episto- 
lary literature, and are worth searching for. I must not, 
hoAvever, dwell longer on this subject, and have only room 
to add, that Mrs. Adams was buried from the house of 
Deacon Grant, who, I believe, had the management of 
her limited funds. 

Consecration Dell is a sweet spot, but time forbids 
us to linger in its pleasant sohtudes. Let us away to the 
Stranger's Tomb. 



82 A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 

The Stranger's Tomb ! What a mournful appella- 
tion, even for a place of graves. To me this sepulchre is 
peculiarly interesting ; for to it I seem to have a vague 
sort of claim. The other graves are, as it were, private 
property ; fenced off, and peopled by the faded fomis of 
particular households ; but this flings open its solemn 
doors at the mute bidding of the pilgrim and the stranger. 
Here, he who goes uncompanioned to his grave, may rest 
until the resurrection morn, and his sleep will not be the 
less sound because affection bends not o'er his lonely 
tomb. But, as Bryant says, 

' "Wliat if thou withdraw 
Unheeded by the living — and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, mil chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee.' 

It mil be seen that I have selected but a few monu- 
ments in this beautiful cemetery for special notice ; but 
there are hundreds around which may well claim our at- 
tention, and give birth to solemn thought. Some, it may 
be, will think that I have chosen too grave a subject for 
this, first of my vicinity visits, but if it be 

' Greatly wise to talk with our past hours. 
And ask them what report they bore to Heaven,' 

surely such a spot as Mount Auburn, which may emi- 
nently conduce to salutary and mse reflections, should 
not be unvisited. 



A VISIT TO MOUNT AUBURN. 33 

I have seen many celebrated cemeteries, and taken as 
a whole, I think Mount Auburn surpasses them all. At 
Pere la Chaise there is too much of the artificiality of 
grief. The London Cemeteries are disfigin-ed by pomp- 
ous marbles and laudatory epitaphs. Laurel Hill cem- 
etery is very beautiful, but the ground is not sufficiently 
varied in character. Greenwood is too extensive ; but 
Mount Auburn, with its ever-varying scenery, beautifully 
undulating surface, and miniature sheets of water, is to 
me far more suited for its sacred purpose than any of 
those named. 

Our tour of this beautiful place is at length completed, 
and once more we are about to mix with the fiving, 
breathing, bustling mass of mankind outside the gates. 
Let us not, however, depart, without Avishing and deter- 
mining to 

' So live, that when our summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chambers in the silent halls of death, 
"We go not, like the quarry slave at night. 
Scourged to liis dungeon, but sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering tnist, approach the grave, 
Like one that draws the drapery of his couch 
Ai'ound him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.' 



34 LEXINGTON 



LEXINGTON AND ITS BATTLE GKOUND. 



' Sleep on, ye slaughtered ones ! 
Your spirit, in your sons, 
Shall guard your dust, 
Wliile Winter comes in gloom, 
Wliile Spring returns with bloom, » 

Nay, till this honored tomb 
Gives up its trust. 

When war's first blast was heard. 
These men stood forth to guard 

Thy house, God ! 
And now, thy house shall keep 
Its vigils where they sleep. 
And still its shadow sweep 

O'er the green sod.' Pieepont. 

A FEW years ago I stood on the plains of Waterloo, and 
with intense interest surveyed the spot where in 1815 the 
greatest battle of modern times was fought. I was point- 
ed out the place where Napoleon watched the progress 
of the heady fight, and that where the victorious Wel- 
lington stood when he shouted to the Life Guards, ' Up, 
men ! and at them ! ' As I gazed, listening with a dull 
ear to the hired jargon of the guide, I endeavored to pic- 
ture to myself the field of carnage, during the heat of the 
conflict, but the attempt was fruitless, for above me was 
the bright summer's sky, around me swelled the glad 



AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 35 

notes of birds, and far away, far as the eye could reach, 
were sheltered hamlets and quiet valleys, whilst on the 
blood-stained sod rose in harvest glory, 

' The golden com 
Like an Indian anny with spears up-bome.' 

Peace brooded over the landscape, and scarcely a vestige 
was left to tell that here a bloody conflict was terminated, 
and a stop put to the career of him who Avas to go forth 
and vex the nations no more. 

I know that I felt a certain degree of national pride 
wliilst standing on that field of conflict, and it was natural 
that it should be so. Within the last few days I have 
paced another battle ground, less in extent, but scarcely 
less associated with mighty consequences to the fortunes 
of a great nation than was that of Waterloo. Strange 
semblances and striking contrasts ! here on this green 
spot of groimd at Lexington, so small that the eye of the 
careless stranger would scarcely be attracted to it, were 
witnessed the first flutterings of the Eaglet. There, at 
Waterloo, the vultures of Napoleon Avere stricken down 
forever. At Lexington a mighty struggle was commenc- 
ed ' — at Waterloo a terrific conflict was closed. Here 
Liberty drew its sacred blade, and there Vengeance, 
glutted with carnage, returned the reeking weapon to its 
scabbard. 

And as I stood, on that bright June day, within the 
shadow of the church which borders one side of the green 
space, and looked, Englishman as I was, tlirough eyes 
from before which I hope the distorting mists of jirejudice 
have long since been blown away, on the granite shaft 



36 LEXINGTON 

wliich marks the resting place of those who fell there in 
seventeen hundred and seventy-five, I felt that if ever 
a righteous war was waged on earth, it was the one 
which had on that spot its commencement. There was 
nothing, as there had been at Waterloo, to rouse my ex- 
ultation, but I experienced, what after all may be a better 
feeling ■ — a consciousness that there right battled for its 
inalienable privileges, and that the spirit of Freedom hal- 
lowed the ground where her children fell. Lexington 
Battle Ground is to the American what the Field of 
Grutli was to Tell and his brave compatriots. 

At the instance of a gentleman of Lexington, who, on 
observing my intention of making some ' Visits in the 
Vicinity' for the especial edification of the readers of the 
Boston Journal, kuidly invited me to pay him a visit ; I 
one day last week, in company of a friend, drove down 
there, and received from a descendant of one who fell 
on the battle ground, a hearty New English welcome to 
his pleasant New England village. 

And pleasant indeed are these New England villages ; 
so different too from those of Old England — the former 
with so much of newness about them, the latter so vener- 
able and grave in their appearance. In the old country 
(I love to hear that almost affectionate recognition of it) 
on some calm summer evening, as you descend a hill side, 
green and fragrant with heath and broom blossoms, whilst 
a stream goes on dancmg to its own music at your feet, 
you behold a cluster of houses, Avhence thin blue curling 
smoke ascends, in the valley below, from which one hoary 
edifice arises in sombre prominence. It is of gothic de- 
sign, and in the mullioned windows the lozenge-shaped 
panes glow like gems in the red sunset; and as that 



AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 37 

luminarj goes down behind a bank of gorgeous clouds, 
his slant beams creep slowly up the steeple, (ivy-clad al- 
most to its summit) until at last the l)all and vane glow 
like molten brass against the sky, whilst all below is left 
in gloom. Around that sacred edifice rise shadowy an- 
cestral elms, beneath whose broad shadows lie in their 
dreamless slumbers the ' rude forefathers of the hamlet,' 
the patriarchs of the parish, and the little children who 
died yesterday. Pass on, and you enter the village 
street. Every thing has the stamp of age upon it ; the 
cottage roofs are green with the mosses of centuries. 
There is the old manor house, with its quaint roof, its 
pointed gables, its monstrous doors with ponderous hinges, 
its fantastic carvings of grotesque heads, which stand out 
m bold relief against the quiet sky. And near it is the 
vicarage, a neat, modest edifice, where rose trees and 
woodbines cluster round the casement and lift up their 
flowers so that they may look within. All around the 
parson's modest mansion there is such an air of quiet that 
it seems like a little heaven below. Before the house is 
a closely mown la^ni, across which the church flings its 
shadoAv — the old parish church ! Look in at one of the 
low w^indows and observe its large pcAvs — its empty pul- 
pits — its mouldering monuments — its quaintly carved 
men and women lying in niches with solemn looks and 
folded hands, and heraldric devices — its silent organ — 
and its lonely altar — then walk through its picturesque 
churchyard and read 

' The short and simple annals of the poor ; ' 

then out again into the village, and mark the substantial 
farm house — sit awhile by the ' ingle nook,' where huge 
4 



38 LEXINGTON 

logs are piled up ' Pelion on Ossa,' and blazing away to 
all hearts' content — then away by the almshouse, where 
aged people sit listlessly at their doors, or tend flowers as 
carefully as they did their children, who died years and 
years ago — and on by many picturesque dwellings, until 
all signs of man's habitations cease on the verge of the 
bleak common, and some idea may be formed of an old 
England village scene. 

Very different in their quiet beauty are such villages 
as Lexington, and indeed all which I have seen in New 
England. How white and glittering those pretty cotta- 
ges, Avith their cheerful-looking green blinds, look. There 
is so much taste displayed in their construction that every 
one of them, with its pillars and veranda, and sometimes 
its observatory, seems intended as a model for exhibition 
— indeed the little hghtning-rods pointing from the chim- 
neys, seem to be the cut-off ends of the cords by which 
they might have lieen gently let down from cloud-land — ' 
and then surrounded as they are by beautiful trees, and 
adorned by tastefully disposed gardens, and the clearest 
of atmospheres around and above them, they appear to an 
English eye more like things seen in dreams than real 
dwelling places, so very airy, misubstantial-looking and 
smokeless do they appear. And instead of the ancient 
temple and its graveyard, arises an exquisitely neat 
church, white, and pure looking as the feathers of an 
eagle's wing — how it glitters in the sunshine! And 
hark ! from the classical pretty turret, the bell sounds 
' as if an angel spoke.' As yet, the venerable graveyard 
is not, for the builders of the temple are its contempora- 
ries — it has no Past ! Gaze within > — how chaste are its 
adornments. Thei-e is no lidit from hiKh-arched windows 



AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 89 

thrown, turning the pavement to gems, but green blinds 
soften the glare, and produce a pleasantly ' dim-religious 
light.' But where have I been wandering? — it is high 
time that I should return to the subject matter of my 
sketch ; and I do so, entreating the reader's pardon for 
having floAvn off at a tangent from the field j^ar excellence 
of Lexington. 

After having partaken of the hospitality of our friend, 
we wandered to the battle ground, which indeed I had vis- 
ited for a few minutes before the repast. There it lay, 
quiet and calm, in the sunshine, looking as green and 
peaceful as if the death-shriek had never rung over its 
grassy surface. A S(|uare, and rather rudely constructed 
granite shaft, surrounded by a pyramidically shaped block 
of the same material, marks the spot Avhere lie the re- 
mains of the six individuals who first shed their blood in 
the war for mdependence. On a marble slab their names 
are engraved, together "svith an mscription commemorative 
of their deeds, written by the late Rev. Jonas Clark. 
The names of those whose remains are enclosed in the 
sarcophagus under the monument, are as follows : 

Jonas Parker, Robert Munroe, Samuel Hadley, 
Jonathan Harrington, Jr., Isaac Muzzy, Caleb 
Harrington, and John Brown. 

We were shown a house, on the north of the common, 
near the ground, in which one of the Harringtons lived. 
It is related of him that after he Avas shot down, he started 
up, and by a dying effort made his way towards his house, 
where his wife was watching for him. He stretched out 
his hand toward her as if for assistance, and fell again. 
Once more he rose and attempted to reach her, but when 
he had crawled to the door he fell at her feet and expired. 



40 LEXINGTON 

Another spot was pointed out to us, where Parker fell. 
This man had often declared that let others do what they 
might, he never would run from the enemy. And he 
kept his word, for when on his knees, and wounded as he 
was, he Avas trying to reload his musket, he was transfixed 
by a bayonet, and thus died on the spot where he first 
stood and fell. 

Some, but a very few, eye-witnesses of that memorable 
conflict are yet living, and on my expressing a desire to 
see one of them, my friend accompanied me to a house 
close by, where one, an old gentleman, resided, who had 
witnessed the occurrence of the morning of the 19th of 
April, '75. My friend stated our object, to a yoimg 
woman, who answered our knock at the veteran's door, 
and we were welcomed into the house. 

Presently a grey-haired old gentleman entered the 
apartment, and greeted us very cordially. He was but 
httle bowed by years, although eighty-four of them had 
passed over his head. His features must at one time have 
been handsome, and even now, furrowed as they were, 
they were gentle and pleasant in their expression. As 
he was hard of hearing he took a seat close by us, and on 
ascertaining the reason of our visit he very cheerfully re- 
])lied to my questions. 

' Aye,' said the old gentleman, ' I remember that morn- 
ing as well as if it was only last Week, and better too than 
if it had been yesterday ; and I always shall while I have 
my reason.' 

' 'T was just between the dark and the fight of the 
morning,' he continued, ' and I was standing on the green 
— I was n't a soldier then, but I was afterward, and was 
at the taking of Burgoyne — and I heard Pitcairn cry to 



AND ITS BATTLE GROUND. 41 

his soldiers, " God d — n you, fire ! " So they did, hut 
over the heads of our people ; and then I saw him ride 
up in a rage, and he cried out again, " D' — n you, fire 
at them," and then I saw several men of our side fall.' 

I asked him about the precise spot where the colonists 
stood, and where the military were stationed ? 

The old gentleman rose from his chair, and fetched 
from a drawer three very old colored engravings of the 
battle — ■ they were rather rude affairs, but he described 
them as being very correct, and with his trembling finger 
he indicated the localities I asked for. 

' And just there,' he added, ' I stood. I wasn't a sol- 
dier then, but,' and the old man's blue eye glistened, ' I 
ivas afterward, and was at the taking of BurgO}Tie.' 

' They came to look after Hancock and Adams,' continu- 
ed he ; ' that 's most likely, and I 've heard that the day 
before the fighting here, a man wrapped up in a cloak, 
stopped at a farm house a few miles from this village, and 
asked the woman there if Hancock and Adams were not 
at Clark's Tavern. She said she didn't know of such a 
place, (she suspected they were secreted at the Rev. Mr. 
Clark's house) and the man was going away towards 
Lexington when the wind blew his cloak aside, and she 
saw beneath it a British officer's uniform. Well, this 
gave her a hint, and she called back the man and told 
him she had forgotten before, but there was such a place 
as Clark's Tavern ; and she went a little way to show him 
the road to it ; but mstead of sending him in the direction 
of Clark's house, she led him into the woods, put him on 
the wrong track, and so prevented his possible discovery 
of the fugitives.' 

After shakmg hands with the old soldier, we strolled 
4* 



42 LEXINGTON 

towards the Rev. Mr. Clark's house, where Hancock and 
Adams laj in concealment. Passing under a huge elm, 
split in sunder, its great limbs lying prostrate across a 
half deserted garden, we procured admission to the dwell- 
ing, and were courteously shown over it by some ladies, 
descendants of its once venerable occupant. It was a 
very old place (for America,) and had wainscotted rooms, 
large sashed windows, monstrous fire-places, old-fashioned 
staircases, and in one room an ancient bedstead and can- 
opy, which, lover of old relics as I am, it gladdened my 
eyes to look upon. And there was the good pastor's old 
arm chair, just as it was when he used to sit in it ; and 
the great old cumbrous dining table, and many high-back- 
ed chairs, with knobbed legs ; and on the kitchen shelves 
were huge pewter plates, looking so delightfully old that 
I could have made myself hungry after an Artillery Com- 
pany's feast, for the mere pleasure of eating off them. 
The very paper on the walls was the original paper, and 
as I sat in the chair afore-mentioned, I fancied Jonas 
Clark, with his grave, reverend look, and John Han- 
cock, the rich, elegant, patriotic, more than princely 
John Hancock, and Samuel Adams, the last of the 
Puritans, the angelic voiced* Samuel Adams — all sit- 
ting in that room, earnestly waiting for tidings, and calmly 
awaiting the issue of the event on the success of which they 
had staked so much. But time flew on, and the ancient 
clock in the corner warned us to retire ; so thanking the 
ladies for their courtesy, we left the old house, (I hope it 
will never be pulled down,) and strolled homeward. 
In our way we visited Hancock's Grove, and stood on 

* Vide Everett's Address. 



AXD ITS BATTLE GROUND. 43 

the spot where Adams and Hancock witnessed the first 
blow struck for freedom. It is now a circular space, 
where those who love pic nies and swinging, do continu- 
ally resort in the long summer days. Here it was that 
Adams, on hearing the firing, saw with a prophetic eye 
the dim dawn of that day whose full flood of radiance was to 
be poured on a free land, and exclaimed, ' What a glorious 
morning is this for America ! ' Both of these illustrious 
men, I believe, lived to see the sun of freedom far ad- 
vanced in his bright career, and to feel the proud con- 
sciousness that it had been their prinlege to aid in the 
toils of those whose glorious aim it was — 

' To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes.' 

A short Avalk over the hill, the patch of rock on whose 
summit was strewn the relics of Lexington bonfires, 
brought us to our friend's house once more, where ha\ing 
cooled our parched throats with some delicious lemonade, 
brewed by a master (I beg pardon, mistress') hand, and 
better far than any of the beverages vaunted by that 
bloated old bard Anacreon, I returned through West 
Cambridge in the cool of the day, to my home, in the 
City of Notions, in the pleasant prospect of proceeding on 
the morrow — 

' To fresh fields and pastures new.' 



44 A TRIP TO LOWELL. 



A TRIP TO LOWELL. 



Taking it for granted that most of tlie readers of the 
* Journal ' are in some degree, at least, familiar Avith the 
interesting ' Manchester of America,' as it has, in some 
respects, not been unaptly designated, I sit down to 
chronicle the impressions produced by it on mj mind, less 
for the purpose of affording information than of contrast- 
ing it with some of the great manufacturing cities in Eng- 
land, which it one day bids fair to rival in extent, wealth, 
and importance. 

And a more striking contrast than that afforded by 
Manchester, for instance, and Lowell, can scarcely be 
imagined. A few years since I visited the former town, 
for it has not yet arrived, large as it is, at the dignity of 
a city, and I will endeavor, as well as I am able, with 
pen and ink, to give the reader some description of its 
appearance. 

Situated on the little river Iswell, and almost in the 
centre of a large plain, arises a wilderness of houses, of 
all sizes, and of all dimensions, and all looking dark and 
gloomy as prisons. There are colossal buildings con- 
structed of dark gray stone, whose stories are piled one 
upon another, until the upper windows are so distant that 
they resemble pigeon holes. Church spires here and 
there vary the dark monotony, and immense factories or 



A TRIP TO LOWELL. 45 

mills loom up in all directions, while their tall chimneys 
belch forth incessantly volumes of the blackest of all pos- 
sible smoke, from which a sooty shower of flakes falls on 
streets and on passengers, until they partake of the gen- 
eral dingy hue. Wherever you go is heard the Avhizzing 
of innumerable wheels, the smoking of steam-pipes, and 
the dull rumble of monstrous drags and wagons. Trade 
there reigns lord of the ascendant, and commerce holds 
its head quarters. 

To form any just idea of the magnitude of Manchester, 
and of the character of its population, it shovdd be entered 
towards evening. Then every mill is illuminated, and as 
their countless windows blaze forth, they present a bril- 
liant spectacle. The black walls are no longer seen, and 
the canopy of smoke which overhangs all is no longer 
distinguishable by the eye« At the corners of nearly all 
the principal streets are gaudy buildings, with enormous 
lamps, and into these Gin Palaces, as they are called, a 
continual stream of living beings enter. And oh ! what 
a wretched procession ! Old men and little children, 
drabbish women and young girls ; youths of besotted ap- 
pearance, and men in the very flower of life, bowed do'WTi 
to the dust, energies quenched, strength prostrated, minds 
half destroyed. Just follow me into a Manchester gin 
palace, and let us watch for a moment what is going on. 

Behind a bar, decorated richly Avith carvings and brass 
work, multiplied by numerous mirrors, in costly frames, 
with three or four showy-looking, and flasliily attired 
females, occupied incessantly in drawing from enormous 
casks, gaudily painted in green and gold, and bearing 
seducing names, glasses of spirits, which are eagerly 
clutched by the trembhng fingers of those who crowd 



46 A TRIP TO LOWELL. 

roimd the counter, gasping as if for breath, for the stimu- 
ulus of drink. Look at their red, half-raw hps ; their 
glaring lack-lustre eyes. Listen to their ribald speech, 
and their profane oaths ; and see how perseveringly those 
retailers of liquor smile on the victims who swallow the 
poisons of which they are the purveyors. How minute 
are some of the glasses on the counter ! - Those are for 
the children's ' drops,' and when the mills are out, hun- 
dreds of the wretched-looking little creatures will visit the 
gin shop for i\\Q\v farthing glass. In such places as these, 
fortunes are made very speedily, for as yet temperance 
societies have done but very httle for the factory people. 

And then stand near one of the factory gates as the 
people are leaving work. It is a horrible, nay, a revolt- 
ing sight ! There you may see misery and wretchedness 
in her most forbidden aspects. Gaunt and half-clad 
women rush, hke mad creatures, from the doors, and 
hasten home where their half-idiotic children have been 
lying since they left them in the morning — half-stupi- 
fied with Godfrey's cordial. It is painful to think how 
many children in Manchester are annually killed off by 
laudanum also. And slatternly girls take their way to fil- 
thy houses, whilst troops of little children, many of them 
maimed and deformed, crawl painfully along to their half- 
satisfying meal — children who have never kno-svn what 
childhood always should enjoy, fresh air and wholesome 
food, and kind treatment. Such are some of the features 
of Manchester as they strike a stranger. 

How different in every respect is the appearance of 
Lowell. It was a clear bright morning when I ahghted 
from the railway car ; and as I walked up the wide street 
I could scarcely persuade myself that I was in a busy and 



A TRIP TO LOWELL. 47 

fiourisliing manufacturing city. So cleanly, so fresh- 
looking, so new did every thing appear. The sky above 
was clear, and the atmosphere so transparent that objects 
at the greatest distance were plainly discernible. I, all 
at once as I gazed, became conscious of a great absence 
of a something, and I could not exactly make out what it 
was. It could not be the factories, for there they were 
all around me, with their little bell turrets, their ladders 
running up the sides and over the roofs ; nor churches, 
for I saw many white, and glittermg in the simshine. I 
at last discovered what it was, or rather what it was not. 
There was no smoke ; and so used had I been to see the 
columns of sooty vapors curling up, and expanding into a 
dense cloud, that now I almost wished for it as a finish to 
the picture before me. 

A pretty city is Lowell ; and when one considers that 
but a very few years since, scarcely a quarter of a cen- 
tury, tlie place on which it stands was a leafy wilderness, 
through which the picturesque Merrimack wound it way, 
it is really wonderful to observe what the energy and en- 
terprise of man have done. "VVliere the boughs of tall 
trees, laden with verdure, cast flickering shadows, paving, 
as with mosaic gold, the grass beneath, factories stand, 
and spindles almost continually revolve. The water 
nymphs have been scared fi-om their haunts by water 
wheels, and the sound of the loom is heard where once 
the Indian rose up at the voice of the bird. 

Of course I was soon attracted to the mills, but I did 
not visit their interiors until the following Monday. In- 
stead of their being situated, as in England, in dingy 
suburbs, surrounded by low and miserable dwelhngs, 
where the work people lived, huddled together by hun- 



48 A TRIP TO LOWELL. 

dreds, they were placed in healthful situations, and gar- 
dens or grass plats around them imparted to them quite a 
cheerful aspect. The ladders, which I just now alluded 
to, Avere intended, I afterwards discovered, as fire escapes, 
in case of the staircases becoming too crowded in the 
event of an accident. They were all plentifully protected 
too by hghtning conductors, which stood as sentries over 
every chimney and angle. 

I am not aware, by the way, whether any column, or 
memorial of any kind, has been erected in this country, 
to the memory of him who drew lightning from the skies 
and rendered it harmless. It is, however, of little mat- 
ter, for, as I stood upon the plain flat stone which marks 
his grave in Philadelphia, and looked at the roofs of the 
houses around, I could not but think that the philosopher 
had more monuments than any livmg man, for every little 
lightning rod which tapered up from house, tower, and 
steeple, was a more suitable memorial than the proudest 
production of the sculptor could possibly be ; and there 
can be but one opinion as to the usefulness of these iron 
testimonials to the genius of Franklin. 

Having seen, and with considerable pleasure, too, the 
* Lowell Offering,' I was of course curious to see the class 
of persons Avho contributed to and supported a periodical 
produced under such peculiar cii'cumstances. Accord- 
ingly, in the company of a friend, I watched the opera- 
tives of one of the mills as they left it in the evening. 
As I have alluded to the appearance of the Manchester 
people under a similar aspect, I need not, for the sake of 
contrast, again refer to them, and will only observe that 
if the Lowell girls had belonged to another race of beings, 
the difference between them and those I had hitherto seen, 



A TRIP TO LOAVELL. 49 

could scarcely have been more marked. All of tlie Low- 
ell operatives were neatly dressed, and of the hundreds 
who passed by us I did not notice, although I looked with 
very in([uisitive eyes, one whose appearance was slat- 
ternly or repulsive. The countenances of most were 
intelligent, and those of some indicated a degree of refine- 
ment, which in Manchester I should have no more looked 
for than for the appearance of the sun at midnight. But 
as I shall have occasion in a future paper to say a great 
deal more about these young ladies, I shall not occupy 
more space at present with this portion of my sketch. 

I was quite pleased during my evening perambulation 
of the streets of Lowell, to observe the good order and 
general quiet which pervaded every where. Many of the 
factory girls were taking their walks in pairs or in little 
groups, and many were busily employed in going from 
shop to shop — but there were no loiterers (except my- 
self,) no coarse language was heard any where, and at a 
very early hour the streets were as quiet as those of a 
country village. 

The following day being the Sabbath, I attended one of 
the churches, and was not altogether surprised to find 
that the greater proportion of the congregation consisted 
of females. The building was quite filled, and the utmost 
attention was paid to the services. A great deal has 
been written and said abroad respecting the attire of the 
Lowell operatives, and therefore I looked about, perhaps, 
a little more than I ought to have done, during the ser- 
mon ; but, really, I did not observe any thmg at all out 
of the way. I have seldom, indeed, seen a better dressed 
set of girls in every respect, and their deportment was far 
more becoming than that of many who I know would turn 
5 



60 A TRIP TO LOWELL. 

up their prettj noses at the idea of a factory girl wear- 
ing silk stockings. I only wish that we could Lowellise 
our English factory population, and impart to the poor 
neglected creatures, who are worse off than the African 
slave, if possible, some of that refinement, the possession 
of which renders all classes wiser and better in every 
respect. 

I heard much respecting these Lowell girls, and as I 
looked at them I could not help feeling respect and ad- 
miration for their many sterling qualities. I was told, 
too, anecdotes of some of them, which abundantly proved 
their self-denying virtues, and their true nobility of char- 
acter. Tales of privation endured, and toils encountered, 
in order that the embarrassments of a family might be 
swept away, or the education of a beloved relative be 
afforded. For obvious reasons I forbear to mention par- 
ticulars of cases like these — it is enough to know that 
there are such, and many such, to confirm us in our good 
opinion and high estimate of the working classes of the 
mills. 

Towards the close of the Sabbath I took a quiet walk 
along the banks of the river, and returning to my hotel, 
as I passed by some of the corporation boarding houses, I 
heard the music of a piano-forte. Several female voices 
united in a hymn tune, which was very sweetly sung — a 
tunc learned, perhaps, in some pleasant New England 
village home, and now sung by the far-away factory girls, 
whose toils Avcrc cheered by the sweet hope of a return 
to it. 

Monday morning! The mills are all alive, and in 
another paper I shall give some account of the hives and 
the workers. 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 51 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 



A FEW Sundays since I was invited by a friend, -wlio 
takes a deep and peculiar interest in such matters, to 
accompany him on a visit to several of the institutions at 
South Boston, and I the more readily acceded to his 
proposal of going, as I was anxious to observe the manner 
in which such places are conducted here, and to compare 
or contrast their machinery with that of similar charitable, 
or reformatory, institutions abroad. 

Of course it is not my intention to write any thing 
which may serve as a ' guide ' to the places I visited, for 
it would be sheer impertinence in me to even attempt to 
point out the pecvxliarities Avhich are obvious and must be 
very familiar to most of my readers. My object is simply 
to note down what particularly struck me on a casual 
glance, and to give a running commentary consisting of 
the thoughts and feelings to which such objects gave 
birth. 

It was about half past nine o'clock when we drove to 
the door of a large stone building, erected on a pleasant 
eminence, which commanded a fine view of Boston harbor. 
Passing through an entrance hall, we found (or rather my 
friend did, who seemed particularly well acquainted with 
the in's and out's of the place) ourselves in a large 
apartment, lofty and avcII lighted. Along one side of the 



52 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 

■wall ran a gallery, and opposite it was a raised desk, or 
pulpit, in which at the time was a gentleman occupied in 
explaining a scriptural chart to a number of children, 
some of whom were seated in the gallery, and the re- 
mainder in a space beneath, so situated that those above 
could not see or hold any communication with those on 
the floor. 

Whilst the gentleman in the reading desk, the Rev. 
Mr. Crowell, was proceeding in liis interesting details, I 
had time to survey the scene before me. I may as well 
state that we were now in the school-room, or chapel, of 
the House of Reformation. The boys in the gallery 
consisted of children of a tender age, all of whom had 
been convicted of some petty crime in the local courts. 
I could not help looking at these yomig offenders with 
much regard. Many of them were very interesting- 
looking children — one especially, who sat m the corner 
of the gallery. I thmk I never saw a face indicative of 
more imiocence than that of the flaxen-haired boy. A 
painter might have selected it as a model for an image of 
purity. But near him were others upon whose young 
visages crime had already affixed its seal, giving to their 
faces that peculiar appearance of low cunning and shrewd- 
ness so often to be observed by those who study physiog- 
nomy in our local courts. Others again, had stupid, 
phlegmatic appearances, Avhich seemed to convey the idea 
that they had entered upon a pathway of crime in blind 
unconsciousness or carelessness of whither it would lead. 
And it was, although an interesting, a somewhat painful 
thought, that while these young human flowers Avere only 
unfolding their petals, the canker Avorm and the blight 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 63 

had impeded and stunted their moral growth, and that 
now though 

' Some traces of Eden tliey seemed to inherit, 
The trail of the serpent was over tliem all.' 

Here, however, in this admirable institution, they were 
separated from the great worldly flock — penned in a 
well-watched fold ; and tended by kindly shepherds. 

Beneath these, on the floor of the room, were another 
set of lads, known, I believe, as the ' Boylston boys.' 
They ranged from six to about fourteen years of age, and 
were either orphans, or children for whom their parents 
cared little or nothing — waifs from life's wave, now 
safely sheltered here. By a wise arrangement, no com- 
mmiication is permitted at any time between this class of 
boys and those to whom I have just referred. In their 
studies, employments, and recreations they never meet, 
and thus there is no chance of moral infection by contact. 
They were a fine, chubby-looking set of lads, and were 
evidently far beyond their gallery neighbors in accjuire- 
ments, as might indeed be expected. 

The subject of the scripture lecture by the chaplain 
was the geography of the Holy Land, and as he read a 
chapter from the New Testament he pointed out the 
different places referred to in the text, and rendered his 
interspersed remarks peculiarly interesting. On the con- 
clusion of the lecture he examined the lads on the subject 
he had been illustrating, and it was surprising to notice 
the readiness with which they replied to the various 
questions put to them. My fellow-visiter then briefly and 
affectionately addressed the lads, after which they formed 
6* 



54 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 

into marcliing order, and we proceeded witli them to the 
chapel, which was beneath the roof of the House of 
Industry, situated a short distance from the House of 
Reformation. 

After an introduction to the gentlemanly and highly 
intelligent superintendent. Captain Chandler, who with 
the utmost courtesy afforded me every information, we 
proceeded to the chapel. It was a plain, neat apartment, 
with pews on either side, an aisle running down the cen- 
tre, and a small gallery for the Reformation boys. The 
Boylston lads occupied seats directly in front of the pulpit, 
and the remaining pews were filled with poor people, 
inmates of the house — all clean, and neatly clad. It 
was saddening to look at some of them, for they had 
evidently seen better days ; and oh ! if there be two 
words of really melancholy import in the language, they 
are these — ' Better days.' What tales they tell of 
crushed hopes and perished joys, and vanished prospects ! 
Of desolate firesides, scattered households, lacerated 
hearts ! Better days ! when Hope lent its enchantment 
to youth's view' — Hope, whose sepvilchre was now be- 
neath the ruins of the past — when the coming of old age 
was looked forward to in a spirit of calm resignation and 
of cheerful trust. Better days, which had passed away 
like the morning cloud or the early dew, leaving the sad 
S})irit to mourn over its desolation. Whilst the van- 
quished African king, we are told by historians, stood on 
the verge of the dark mine to which the cruelty of his 
captors consigned him for the remainder of his days, the 
barbarians around tore from his ears and nose the jcAvels 
which hung there, and with them the suspending flesh. 
As naked, the wretched monarch descended the pit, he 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 55 

murmured In agony, '■lioiv cold!^ So perhaps they feel 
who stand in old age on the grave's brink, all they loved 
and prized torn from them while yet alive ; and bleeding, 
they go down, murmuring in heart, as Jugurtha did with 
voice, ' How cold ! ' 

The congregation all seated — the organ, played by a 
blind female who came for that purpose from the neigh- 
boring asylum, pealed out its soft and tranquilizing tones, 
and ' Welcome, delightful morn,' was very sweetly sung 
by the Boylston boys — and really I have seldom heard 
better performances from more pretending aspirants to 
proficiency in the ' art and science of musicke.' Then 
followed the reading of the scriptures — a prayer, and 
after another hymn, this time sung by the boys of the 
House of Reformation, a sermon, which was exceedingly 
appropriate to the place and people, by the Rev. gentle- 
man whom I have before named. 

I could not help admiring the order which prevailed 
during service, nor being the smallest trifle in the world 
amused at the gravity of countenance and deportment 
exhibited by some of the boys. During the prayers they 
all stood with folded arms and closed ej^es. There was 
no staring about, as we sometimes see amongst ' children 
of a larger growth ' — no peerings at pretty faces under 
pretty bonnets ■ — or inquisitive lookings into adjacent 
pews during the devotional exercise, but all was serenity 
and solemness. Some of the little fellows actually 
seemed to grow old and sedate all at once, and if they 
had been a little gray-headed, and attired in long, broad- 
skirted coats, and knee buckles, and had been furnished 
with walking sticks, they might have passed off very well 
as Lilliputian grandfathers. 



56 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 

In the afternoon we paid a visit to another estahlish- 
ment, The House of Correction, a place originally 
designed for the restraint and em2:»loyment of the idle and 
vicious poor, for habitual drunkards, beggars, vagrants, 
and those convicted of minor offences in the inferior courts 
of justice ; but Avhich now assumes more the form of a 
Penitentiary for the punishment of persons convicted of 
crimes properly expiable in the State Prison. Persons 
are sent here for the terms of nine years as a maximum, 
and for two months as a minimum sentence. We were 
introduced to the chapel, a rather dreary-looking place, 
divided in the centre by a partition running its whole 
length, so that the males and females do not see each 
other during the hour of worship. A very affectionate 
sermon was delivered to a congregation of crime, by the 
Rev. Charles Cleveland, the indefatigable and zealous 
chaplain, and the utmost order prevailed. As I sat in a 
pew by the pulpit, a mndow looking out on the harbor, the 
water of which glittered m the sunshine, was close at my 
right hand, and the melancholy audience, each individual 
composing it dressed in the motley livery of the prison- 
house, fronted me, and as I gazed one moment on the 
bright sparkling bay, and marked the white sails go 
glancing by, and now and then saw a free bird sweep 
on, singing as it went — and then looked on the sad, con- 
strained, prison-bound expression on the countenances of 
those before me, a half-melancholy stole over my spirit, 
and I felt glad that the poor creatures were so placed that 
they could not be tantalized with the peaceful outside 
view. When the service closed, the worshippers — if 
worshippers they were, for I imagine it must be no easy 
matter to send thoughts up to God — grateful, glad 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 57 

tliovights from such a temple — retired in diiFerent files — 
tramp, tramp — tramp they Avent away to their cells, each 
with a bible beneath his arm, to listen to the private 
instructions of the kind-hearted chaplain, whose very 
heart seemed in his work, or to cherish their own sad 
thoughts. 

I must not omit to express my acknowledgments to Mr. 
Robbins, the able master of the house, for his courtesy on 
this, as well as on a subsequent visit, to which I shall 
presently refer. 

Calling once more at the House of Industry, we were 
gratified by hearing the lads sing in the chapel, and after 
exchanging some little courtesies with the American, 
English, Irish, Scotch, and V/elch youngsters, and with 
one remarkably talented youth, a Swede, who we were 
told, was an excellent and accomphshed linguist, we 
retired highly gi-atified "with the events of the day. 

Since then I have paid a week-day visit to these estab- 
lishments. As I entered the gates, I observed the refor- 
mation hojs, in their blue dresses, all busily employed in 
weeding onions, (for it was vacation time) an occupation 
which was alternated with other employments of the kind, 
and with play. I was much gratified in going over the 
building and examining the large and commodious sleep- 
ing rooms, from every window of which beautiful views 
were commanded, and which admitted constant streams of 
pure and pleasant air. 

There is also a very well-selected library, and a small 
museum. Descending to the lower regions we saw the 
victualhng departments, all so clean, that to use a common 
expression, ' one might eat off the very boards,' looked 
into the laundry, and poked our nose into all manner of 



68 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 

useful places. We now proceeded to the House of Indus- 
try, when Capt. Chandler escorted us over the buildmg, 
and really it was quite delightful to witness the comforts 
of the aged inmates, and to listen to the kind Avords 
addressed to them by the superintendent. The little 
rooms were neatly furnished, and looked quite cheerful ; 
pictures hung on the walls ; and we Avere told that so 
attached were some of the old ladies to their particular 
rooms, that a removal from one to another was looked 
upon as quite a calamity. As we walked about we- met 
one silent and sad-looking woman, who, it seems, in her 
sixty-fifth year, became the victim of a tender passion 
which she conceived for a good-looking pauper who 
worked at the house. Notwithstanding her age, she 
indulged in all the lack-a-daisy-ism of a love sick lass of 
seventeen, and so intense was her strangely taken up 
affection, that the poor old girl's mind sank under its 
force, and she became what she now is — an idiot ! 

I observed, as I passed on, a colored woman perfectly 
crippled, and so helpless that she could not move a step 
without help, about to be removed to a carriage, which 
was to convey her from the building of which she had 
been an inmate four years, and which she was now about 
to quit, to take the charge of a child ! As we passed her, 
she said, with much earnestness, ' God bless you, Captain 
Chandler ! You have been a father to me ! ' and I 
believe in one sense she spoke truth, for the pleasant 
looks of the people, Avhenever he appeared, convinced me 
that, unlike many persons holding such an office, he was 
more loved than feared. The appomtments of the house 
were in all respects admirable ; but I have no time to 
dwell on details, and we were compelled to curtail our 



A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 59 

visit in order to visit the workshops of the House OF 
Correction. 

Here I found extensive manual operations going on in 
various departments of hibor. Under a large shed were 
stone masons, engaged in shaping huge blocks of granite ; 
in another department brass nails were fabricated ; and 
in a third division horn buttons were manufactured. The 
system of discipline seemed to be very judicious, and the 
most perfect order and neatness appeared every where to 
prevail. 

On our return we passed through the grounds of the 
Houses of Industry and Keformation, where the boys were 
engaged in picking strawberries for the Boston market. 
The urchins labored Avell in their vocations ; and although 
I watched them pretty closely, not one of the luscious 
berries did I see appropriated to their own purposes. 
Captain Chandler had the kind look and the good word 
for every one of the boys, and the poor little fellows 
seemed highly to value his approval. I never saw boys 
under such perfect command, and yet the only law which 
governed them Avas that of kindness. 

There was one rather heavy-looking lad to whom 
Captain Chandler directed my attention ; he was half an 
idiot, but possessed remarkable talent for skctchmg. He 
was called to me, and on the cover of a strawberry box 
he drew, in a few moments, a horse, with very great spuit 
and taste. He had the true artist touch. 

' I wish, sir,' said he to me, ' that they wovdd put me to 
the drawing trade.'' And it is really a pity that his taste 
shovdd not be cultivated, for I do not doubt that he would 
turn out a ' somebody,' if care Avere taken. 

' AYould you like some pencils and drawing paper, 
Peter ? ' I asked. 



60 A VISIT TO SOUTH BOSTON. 

' Oh ! sliould n't I ? ' replied Peter, with energy, and 
his dark ejes flashed with pleasure. 

I promised to send him some, and left him, feeling, as 
I often have felt before, that — 

' Many a flower is born to blush unseen.' 

Who knows how many incipient Allstons there may be 
in such places as these ? 

Thus have I rapidly and sketchily gone over these 
institutions, not in the expectation of throwing new light 
upon their histories or present state, but with a view of 
acquiring mformation, and perhaps of imparting a portion 
of it to some whose occupations prevent their enjoying a 
visit to places like these, which, although close at their 
doors, are on that very account too often unvisited. 

It often happens that scenes near home are more 
unfamiliar than those at a distance ; but tliis should not 
be, for much enjoyment is afforded to travellers by the 
force of contrast ; at least I have found it so ; and I know 
I should not have half so much enjoyed my examination 
of these Boston institutions if I had not previously made 
myself in some degree familiar "vvith similar estabhshments 
in my own land. 



BOSTON COMMON. 61 



BOSTON COMINION — A TALK AND A WALK ABOUT IT. 



It would almost seem a work of supererogation to pen 
a paragraph in praise of Boston Common, so universally 
is its beauty acknowledged — and yet it is difficult to 
repress exclamations of delight when remembering its 
* verdurous boAvevs,' (if indeed the grateful shade cast 
by its noble trees can be assimilated to any tiling like 
flowers,) or its bright broad expanse of green. Let the 
good people of New York talk as they will about their 
' Battery,' and few Avill, I imagine, be disposed to question 
the attractions of that fine promenade, they cannot make 
the Common sufter by the comparison. Indeed, they may 
be better contrasted than compared. To my mind the 
City of Notions possesses the more charming promenade 
of the two. 

I know of only one place wliicli almost equals it in 
beauty — almost I say, for it is not so rich in trees as is 
the Common. I refer to Chippenham Mead, on the 
banks of the Wye, in South Wales, and close to the town 
of Momnouth. It was there that the poet Gray used to 
walk, and he called it, in his enthusiasm, ' the delight of 
my eyes, and the very seat of pleasure.' And truly, a 
more delightful locality it must be hard to find. I have 
often strolled over it, as the author of the ' Elegy m a 
Country Churchyard ' did, years before, treading in the 
6 



62 BOSTON COMMON. 

very pathway which he frequented, whilst the heautiful 
river sang its low song as it did years ago to his finely- 
tuned ear. Like the Common, it is the property of the 
town, and like it, too, seldom enough frequented by those 
to whom it is calculated to be a real blessing. 

As I was strolling through the leafy arcades of Boston 
Common a few evenings since, and watching with curious 
and pleased eyes the throngs who passed me by, my fancy 
took unto herself wings and flew away to the times when a 
former generation paraded there — when the noble trees, 
which now form such natural and graceful arches over- 
head, roofing the broad aisles with their masses of foliage, 
through which the flickering sunbeams paved the walks 
with a kind of mosaic gold, were young, or newly planted 
— and when many whose names are yet familiar sauntered 
there in all the pride of youth and beauty. 

Then, grave men, habited in quaint appareling, rested 
from the labors of the long day, and conversed of their 
old times, as we do now of ours ; whilst children, long ago 
in their graves, listened to oracular sayings and prophetic 
anticipations. There, in ' the times when George the 
Third was King,' did the sturdy colonists repair to discuss 
grievances and suggest remedial measures — and there, 
too, did political astronomers resort in order to watch the 
advent of star after star in their hemisphere, and to watch 
the gradually increasing dawn which preceded the rising 
of the Sun of Liberty. Look at yonder house, which still 
retains its antique appearance, and see coming from its 
door John Hancock, accompanied by some chosen 
friends. Mark the grave earnestness of their counte- 
nances and the almost solemn air of each of them, as they 
slowly pace the Common. They are discussing a mighty 



BOSTON COMMON. 63 

question, for the freedom of millions is the theme of their 
debate. Samuel Adams is also there, and his sweet, 
persuasive voice strikingly contrasts with the boldness of 
Hancock's tone. Patriotic men ! they already saw in the 
dim distance some indications of the greatness which was 
to be achieved. And doAvn they sit, within the shade of 
the Liberty Tree, whose branches wave cheerily above 
them, until sunset, when, in accordance with the custom 
of those good old times, they seek their homes, leavmg 
the Common to those who prefer the moonlight for the 
purposes either of love, or a ' lark.' 

And doubtless many a tale of love has been whispered 
in the Mall — why should it not have been so ? Only 
fancy a youthful pair walking through those pleasant 
pathways in the early morning, before the city is awake, 
and when a thousand birds are smging amidst the 
branches. Such music is, we all of us know, the ' food 
of love ; ' and for my own part I know of no pleasanter 
place than Boston Common to take it in. It must have 
been quite rural, too, in the old time, for we arc told 
that in 1646, seventy milch kine were allow^ed to be kept 
there. Indeed, its original purposes were specified as a 
place for ' a training field, and the feeding of cattle.' It 
was only so late as eighteen hundred and thirty-three 
that a city ordinance forbade this quadruped occupation 
of the Common. 

Connected with this cattle reminiscence of Boston 
Common, an anecdote is related of an old lady, who 
was once unexpectedly called upon to entertain as guests 
of her husband, whose mansion overlooked the Common, 
a large party of French officers, belonging to the Comit 
d'Estang's fleet; her energies, it seems, rose with the 



64 BOSTON COMMON. 

emergencies of the occasion. ' And what do you think,' 
she >Y0uld say, ' I did for the cream and milk to serve a 
breakfast for such a party ? Why, I sent out my servants 
with orders to milk all the cows on the Common, and told 
them, if any body asked them any questions, to tell them 
to send their bills to Governor Hancock.' 

But let us come back to modem times • — to our o^vn 
day — and let us take a bird's-eye view of the Common, 
and for that purpose we Avill ascend to the dome of the 
State House, Avhich looms up like a little Saint Paul's. 
Stay — and before we mount let us admire the statue of 
Washington, by Chantrey ; the philosopher, statesman, 
and soldier, delineated by the great sculptor 1 Chantrey 
was seldom great himself, excepting in a bust ; but on 
this statue of the ' Father of his Country,' he seems to 
have bestowed considerable pains and care. It is chaste 
and dignified, and well may the Bostonians be proud of 
possessing so fine a work of art. Now, then, after 
inscribing our names, let us ascend the staircase, and lo ! 
panting and perspiring, we are at last at our journey's 
end. And what a glorious panorama is presented to our 
view ! At our feet is the Common, in all its beauty, 
with its tiny pedestrians. The Frog Pond glistens in the 
sunshine ; and the ' great elm ' — a magnificent tree — 
stands conspicuously out from amongst its sjdvan neigh- 
bors. Three sides of the Common are bounded by brick 
and mortar, where merchant-princes reside, in homes to 
which commerce has invited genius and taste ; but the 
fourth lies open to the country, and is Avashed by the 
bright waters of Charles River bay ; the cheerful villages 
of Roxbury, Brookline, Brighton, and Cambridge, may be 
seen m the distance — their white houses sparkling from 



BOSTON COMMON. 65 

amidst groves of green— and here and there graceful 
spires taper up, their vanes glittering like burnished gold. 

What a glorious prospect from this little cupola ! but 
I shall not plagiarize from the guide booh, by describing 
it. Let no Bostonian neglect to avail himself of the 
elevation, and no stranger should leave the city without 
partaking of the great and gratuitous pleasure of a view 
from the summit of the State House. I have -witnessed 
a number of what are called fine sights in my time — I 
have been present at the Queen's coronation, and at 
other such imposing spectacles, but I can, in all sincerity, 
aver that none ever }^elded me so much pleasure as the 
view on Boston Common on the evening of the recent 
Fourth of July. The sun was rapidly sinldng as I passed 
through the gates and mixed with the multitude, who 
pressed on toAvards the spot where the fireworks were to 
be exhibited. And as I stood on the eminence near the 
Pond, what a magnificent sight met my gaze. At the 
least one hundred and fifty thousand persons must have 
been present. I am certain there were as many as this, 
for I have often witnessed immense gatherings out of 
doors, both in England and in Ireland, and may claim to 
be a judge. All were attracted to one centre, and yet 
the whole of the Common was alive with people ; the 
crowd being densest, of course, near the fireworks, the 
frame-work of which stood in black rehef against the sky, 
like a fantastic temple. 

But what perfectly astonished me was the order which 
ever^^where prevailed. It was a perfectly new feature, 
at least to me, in such a vast assemblage. In England 
it would be absolutely impossible for such a mass to have 
assembled without the ears being pained with profanity, 
6* 



66 BOSTON COMMOISr. 

and the eyes insulted by indecency. In Ireland, I need 
not say that so7iie disturbance must have ensued. Per- 
haps in Scotland the nearer approach to such order might 
be found ; but even there it Avould be only in the rural 
districts. In the course of the evening, although I kept 
a good look-out, I saw nothing approaching even to any 
violation of the rules of propriety, nor offensive to those 
of taste. Not a single oath, or an improper word did I 
hear, and there was nowhere to be seen an ill-dressed 
person. Good humor was prevalent everywhere, and 
smiles Hghted up each countenance. As darkness came 
on, the only noises to be heard proceeded from the squibs 
of little boys, who let them oif in the crowd, to the 
amusement of all, and the injury of no one. As every 
now and then I saw a flash and heard a report, it seemed 
as if hundreds of bottles of luminous ' pop ' were being 
uncorked. Then the bands pealed forth their music, 
and harmony went hand-in-hand with rejoicings. In my 
conscience, I do not conceive that such a spectacle as 
Boston Common presented that evening, could be par- 
alleled in the world. Everybody was his o-wn pohceman, 
and the duty Avas exceedingly well performed. On the 
termination of the festivities, the crowd retired in perfect 
order ; and the stars, which had been very tranquilly 
looking on, whilst the rockets sent forth their brilliant 
showers, shone down upon the deserted Common, because, 
as Lover says in ' Molly Bawn,' ' they 'd nothing else 
to do.' 

Many glorious sights have been mtnessed on Boston 
Common. One of them I should particularly hke to have 
seen. I refer to the scene which must have presented 
itself when George Whitefield preached there. I can 



BOSTON COMMON". 67 

imagine the calm Sabbatli eve — the crowd of worship- 
pers, beneath a cloudless skj — the fervid preacher's 
appearance, as he read the hymn of praise — ■ and the 
singing of the vast multitude. I can see Whitefield, as 
he stood, with his little bible in one hand, the other point- 
ing to the blue concave above, and hear him, as now with 
the persuasive tones of an angel, he pauits the bliss of 
Paradise, and anon, with the thunder of his eloquence, 
wakes up the sleepers on the brink of perdition. White- 
field, whenever he could, chose picturesque situations for 
the scene of his labors ; and Boston Common was just the 
place for him. On such an occasion it must have been 
good to have been there. 

A happy name is that ■ — ' Boston Common.'' There 
is nothing exclusive about it, and the tenii emphatically 
implies that it is, what it indeed is, common' — to the 
rich and the poor — common as the breezes which sweep 
along its surface, and the sky which smiles above it. It 
is the great Lung to the throbbing city-heart, and the 
organ in which the renovating and healing influences are 
to be found — a place where care may be for a while 
banished, and in which anxiety may smooth his ruffled 
brow. It is alike a resort of j^outh and age — for the 
frivolist and the philosopher. Innocence may sport there 
without soiling its beautiful garments — and there the 
grief that comes with years may find solace and relief. 
Fortunate was Boston in having had far-sighted men for 
its founders, and doubly fortunate are those, who can with 
pride remember the wisdom of their ancestors, as they 
realize the enjoyments Avhich, in the benevolence of their 
hearts, they planned. 



68 A TRIP TO NAHANT. 



A TRIP TO NAHANT. 



A BRIGHT, clear, hot, shadowless day ! a day when the 
dwellers in cities, sit gasping behind green blinds, or 
lounge in perspiratory perplexity in rocking chairs and 
on sofas. The only active beings in existence are the 
flies, and they fully justify the ancients, who in their 
hieroglyphics adopted those buzzing plagues as the symbol 
of Impudence. The streets are half deserted, for the 
thermometer stands at a hundred. Sellers of soda w^ater 
rejoice, and the venders of ice creams enter warmly into 
their vocation. Sidewalk and slate, bricks and blocks of 
granite illustrate practically the theory of reflected heat, 
and visions of cool places and verdurous solitudes appear 
to the mind's eye of parched-up pedestrians. Every body 
is gone out of town, and feeling, whilst Ave lean against 
the door of the Athenseum, like the last rose of summer, 
left blooming alone, and hearing the whiz of steam from 
the boat at the foot of Pearl street, we suddenly make a 
desperate effort and reach the boat as she is pushing off" 
from Liverpool wharf. We are bound for Nahant ! 

There are motley groups on the deck of the little 
steamer ■ — fat elderly gentlemen take it easily, and stout 
mati-ons with ' shining afternoon faces,' puff" in concert 
with the steam-pipe. A lot of rowdyish-looking young 
men occupy the front of the boat, the deck of which they 



A TRIP TO NAIIANT. 69 

convert into a ' monstre ' spittoon ; and smartly-dressed 
' gents ' (excuse, reader, the dapper diminutive) sit aft, 
paying the pohtest of attentions to the prettiest of Yankee 
girls ' — 'happy-looking children are staring -with all their 
eyes at the sea, as we glide along past island and fort, 
and at length having steamed through a narrow channel, 
we emerge into a Avide expanse of water, and Nahant 
stretches before us like a long arm thrown out into the 
Atlantic, the Hotel being grasped like a toy house in 
its fist. 

A wild and singular-looking place it is at the first 
glance — there it stands, a huge rock, around which the 
Atlantic rolls and raves ; and standing on the point just 
beyond the Hotel, the vastness of old Ocean is in a 
measure comprehended whilst remembering that between 
the spot where your foot rests and Cape Clear, more than 
three thousand miles off, there is not a spot on which the 
sea bii"d may alight and rest his wearied Avings. When 
one's home lies beyond the blue waters, I need scarcely 
say that one wishes for long sight, or the gift of clair- 
voyance. But I must not sentimentalize' — let us look 
around on this beautiful scene, as the ocean breezes cool 
our brows. 

It would be alisurd in me to enter hito any description 
of Naiiant. Every body hereabout knoAVS every thing 
about it, from the time when it was sold by Poguaniuim, 
the Sagamore, to Farmer Thomas Dexter of Lynn, for a 
suit of clothes, mitil these present times, when the wolves 
which abounded here afford no more sport, and AA'hen the 
Puritan spirit has passed aAvay, Avhich prosecuted in 1088 
one Robert Page of Boston, for ' settinge saille from 
Nahant, in his boate, ])eing loaden Avith Avood, thereby 
profainmg the Lord's Daye.' 



70 A TRIP TO NAHANT. 

Having secured comfortable quarters at the Naliant 
Hotel, I sauntered towards the rocks, and ere long found 
mjself at the entrance of the Swallow's Cave. It is 
a romantic place, but the influx of visitors had scared 
away the birds which gave the place its name. Passing 
through it, Pulpit Rock, a huge pile of stone, the upper 
part of which is something like a desk, on which great 
books of stone lie, came in view, and at the base of it I 
sat dovm. to admire the wild scenery around. 

The rocks about Nahant are very picturesque, both 
as regards shape and color. They are white and green, 
blue and red, purple and gray, and, in some places, as 
the guide book says, ' very black and shining, having the 
appearance of iron.' Whilst I was occupied in picking 
my way amongst the deep fissures, caverns, and grottoes 
formed by them, the sky became gradually darkened, and 
a thunder storm came on, to avoid which I retreated into 
the Swallow's Cave, where I enjoyed a magnificent 
view of a ' white squall,' as it swept along the waters hke 
a sheeted ghost, and disappeared in the distance with the 
usual spectral accompaniments of thunder and lightning. 

A fine place it is among these rocks to study the now 
fashionable science of Geology ■ — fashionable even amongst 
ladies, whose little geological hammers we hear clinking 
wherever specimens are deemed procurable. Some peo- 
ple consider this same geology a dry topic, but looking at 
it merely with the eye of an amateur, I cannot agree with 
them — it is the grandest species of antiquarianism — 
but there are two kinds of antiquaries in the world, fools 
and wise men, one class valuing the relic for its own sake, 
the other for its associations with periods he can never 
know but by the dim reflex of history, and into which such 



A TRIP TO NAHANT. 71 

relic, corn, bone, statue, or whatever it may be, more 
strongly transports men of vivid imaginations. 

Whilst the thunder storm is passing over us, let us stay 
in the Swallow's Cave, and seated on one of these eternal 
rocks, try to conjure up the pre-Adamite landscape, 
(which existed hundreds of years before the Indian 
hunted on these shores) with its flying monsters, (real 
dragons) with all its Brobdignag features, animate and 
inanimate. 

A little distrust, I confess, I feel of those learned 
resurrection men, Buckland, Silliman, and company, who 
composed a terrific animal so easily out of scattered relics, 
but the enormous bulk of the disjecta membra proves 
itself, and wonder has food enough in contem})lating them, 
per se, without pinning our faith on the sleeve of an 
enthusiast, who may force into conjunction members 
which a few hundreds of thousands of years divided in 
reality — but let that pass. 

A strange flight, the reader will say, from this little 
Swallow Cave of Nahant, to the planet ' Earth Universe.' 
Seriously, however, one sometimes finds a strange comfort 
in sending the soul back into antiquity — that of Rome or 
Greece for example — then back still into the twilight 
time of Hercules and Orpheus, till outstripped in this 
backwark flight, Romulus and Alexander become mod- 
erns. At last we reach an antiquity that modernises even 
those half-human, half-fabulous, elder brothers of ours. I 
mean the antiquity of this planet, of w^hich we get a^\'ful 
ghmpses by that wonderful dissection of our mother earth, 
yclept Geology. What are ivied ruins, Norman, or even 
British wrecks of castles, cromlechs, and all we have been 
fancying ancient before, while we look at the skeleton of a 



72 A TRIP TO NAHANT. 

mammoth ? The battle of Hastings has just been fought, 
(the newsboys have harcllj ceased crymg ' bloody news ' 
in the street.) The fine young Prince Edward — the 
Black Prince — master Edward has just donned his 
armour, and looks very well in it, and that bad boy Dick 
has had Jiis doffed for him at Bosworth, and looked uglier 
than ever, slung across a horse like a calf. As to Carac- 
tacus, he was our elder brother certainly, but we recollect 
him very well. Hercules and Theseus we have but faint 
recollections of ; they were before our time of memory ; 
but as belonging to this very identical stratum of this 
many stratified globe's crust, we smile at all of them as 
pretenders to venerability. And without vagaries like 
these, let me ask, does not a mind, rapt as it were, into a 
distance of time so vast, that it seems to penetrate far into 
eternity, lose all remembrances of itself, and ranging 
through the ruins of generations, of species, and even of 
the surfaces they inhabited, (now land, now ocean, and 
presently dry land and life again) regard even the fall of 
empires, as trivial accidents ; a falhng dynasty as one 
dropping leaf in a forest, and, learning to contemplate this 
planet in its elements only, as part of the solar system, 
return to its single petty hope, blasted or cro^wTied, with 
wonder at its former importance prior to tliis excursion ? 

But lo ! ' the storm is over and gone,' and a ' rainbow 
based on ocean, spans the sky ; ' there are two quotations 
for you, reader, worth not a little. Let us visit Irene's 
Grotto. It is a singular and rude archway of rock, 
forming an entrance to a cave, half demolished by those 
who have stolen the stone-work of the roof for utihtarian 
purposes. There is notliing here which calls for particu- 
lar attention, so we will just go and hsten to the roaring 



A TRIP TO NAHANT. i6 

of the -waters in the ' Cauldron,' as they boil and foam 
below. This is a place which the spirit of the storm visits 
when ' flying winds are all abroad.' It is too calm now 
for me to hear much, but it must be a fine place for spirits 
to revel in when the Storm-King's legions dash in their 
fury over this iron-bomid shore. 

We have visited the Castle Rock, which is situated on 
the northeastern side of Nahant, at the extremity of Cedar 
point. It looks something like the front of an old castle, 
with its huge bastions and buttresses. By the aid of a 
little fancy we might see the warders on the walls, and 
witness arrow flights from the loop holes ; but the sea-bird 
is its only inhabitant, and the wail of ocean resomids 
there, instead of the clang of mailed feet, and the cry of 
battle. 

The SpouTiNa Horn is merely a winding fissure in the 
shape of a horn, passing into a deep cavern under the 
rock. Through a tunnel the water is driven into this 
cavern, and thence ejected through another fissure with 
great force. Coleridge should have been here to hear the 
old deity ' wind his wreathed horn.' During a great 
easterly storm the scene here must be amazingly fine. 

But perhaps there is nothing more attractive in and 
about Nahant than its beaches, one of which connects 
great with the little Nahant, and the other, little Nahant 
with the town of Lynn. The former is only about half a 
mile in length, very smooth and beautiful ; and the latter, 
betw^een two and three miles in length, forming a cavise- 
way of fine shining sand, hard and smooth — so hard that 
in driving over it, the horses' hoofs make scarcely any 
impression, and so dehghtfuUy smooth that jou glide over 
it without a somid. When the tide has lately receded, 
7 



74 A TRIP TO NAHANT. 

the surface, owing to its power of retaining moisture, 
appears like an immense mirror ; and as the horse and 
vehicle pass noiselessly over it, and perfectly reflected 
below, one seems to be travelling in 

' Cloixdland — gorgeous land,' 

for there is ' blue above and blue below,' every cloudlet 
which passes over the expanse of heaven like a floating 
island in a sea of light, being faithfully mirrored in this 
monstrous ocean looking-glass. 

The visitor to Nahant will find many sources of enjoy- 
ment, albeit the place is so small. The appearances 
produced by atmospheric phenomena are frequently of 
the most interesting kind ; such as the Parhelia, or Mock 
Suns, the Mirage, and the Fata Morgana ; and we now 
add to these wonders that of the Sea Serpent ! which 
veritable chroniclers declare to have been often seen off 
the Point since 1819, but which I was disappointed in 
Seeing in 1845. 

But I must lay down my pen, and I do so, referring 
the reader, who may be desirous of acquiring further 
information respecting Nahant, to a httle book by the 
' Lynn Bard,' in which all, I presume, that can be inter- 
esting, is made knoAvn. For my own part, after a day 
and a night at this delightful spot, I returned to Boston 
invigorated both in body and mind ; but Avhich latter fact 
the reader may possibly doubt from the perusal of this 
rambhng and discursive paper. 



LOWELL MILLS, ETC. 75 



LOWELL MILLS, AND THE MILL-OCHACY. 



I HAVE, in your company, kind and courteous reader, 
wandered through the streets of this pretty and pleasant 
city of spindles ; have indulged in sundry musings by the 
bright and babbling river, which, winding among hills and 
through valleys, makes itself remarkably useful in your 
locality. And now I entreat your patience whilst we 
thread our way through these monster manufactories 
which give importance to the city, and without which, 
indeed, the city would not be. One might as well expect 
a body to fulfill all the functions of ^dtahty without a 
heart, as Lowell to exist without its mills. 

Cotton Mills ! In England the very words are 
synonymous with misery, disease, destitution, squalor, 
profligacy, and crime ! The buildings themselves are 
huge edifices which loom like gigantic shadows in a 
smoky, dense atmosphere. Around them are wretched 
houses, and places of infamous resort ; and blasphemies 
and curses are the common language of those who fre- 
quent them. How different from the neighborhood in 
which we now are, where the only sound which is heard 
above the whirling of spindles, and the clatter of ma- 
chinery, is the chirp of the locust or the song of the 
robin. 



76 LOWELL MILLS, 

It is ' ten of the clock,' and we are in the counting 
room of the ' Middlesex ' Corporation ; and having placed 
ourselves under the wing of one of the Cotton Lords, 
who has courteously intimated his intention of being our 
guide, we proceed to the building where broadcloths are 
manufactured. 

What a terrific series of thumpings the great wheel 
gives as with slow and stately movement it goes round. 
The workman has lifted up some planks and we see the 
mighty machine on its mercantile march, never accel- 
erating nor slackening its pace ; dripping as with cool 
perspiration, 

' It never tires nor stops to rest, 
But round and round it nins,' 

a great organ or brain, from which hundreds of nervous 
filaments and ganglia are given off to the very extremities 
of the body mechanical. 

In the lower part of the building, the processes of 
washing and dyeing are carried on, and aU engaged in 
these occupations looked like so many animated blue-bags. 
Leaving this ' Blue Stocking Hall,' we mount a flight of 
stairs, and in a long room our senses are half dizzied by 
the noise of looms and machines of more names than I 
will venture to recount. Shuttles fly in all directions ; 
and we listen with pleased wonder to the descriptions of 
our friend who is ol)liged to bawl his information into ears 
miused to the sounds of Spindledom. Then there were 
carding machines of strange and mysterious structure 
which performed their duties in so astonishingly easy a 
manner, that the girls who stood looking at them seemed 
almost to be works of supererogation. And they would 



AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 77 

have been useless too, only for a careless and slj way 
these machines had of snapping a thread or so now and 
then, just as if they wanted an excuse for stopping to peer 
into the pretty faces around, and dally with the fair fin- 
gers which just touched them, as if chidingly, and set 
them going on again as though nothing had happened. It 
was really wonderfully curious to observe how instanta- 
neously one of these machines stopped, when only a 
blender thread — one of many hundreds — broke, just 
like a child of mortality, whose frame contains 

'A thousand springs, 
And dies if one be gone,' 

It seemed akin to intelligence, but one must wonder 
at nothing now, when thought travels on a \dve with 
lightning for its private and confidential secretary, and 
a machine in London makes latin hexameters ' to order.* 

Staircase after staircase we mounted, and room after 
room we examined, and were being constantly put into 
great perplexities by what we saw. And when any thing 
and every thing was explained to us, we nodded our head 
with an air of great sagacity, just as if we had a thorough 
knowledge of ' all about it,' and were rather gratified to 
find that our companion was eipially well acquainted with 
matters and things. Then there was considerable diffi- 
culty in preventing our coat tails from being nipped by 
cogged wheels which showed their teeth as if longing for 
a meal of ' devil's dust.' At length we visited the press- 
ing rooms, and inspected the variously patterned cloths, 
looking all the while as much like merchants who were 
about to purchase as possible, and finally we descended to 



78 LOWELL MILLS, 

the court varcl, with a confused sound in our ears, and 
bkie lights dancing before our ejes. 

But perhaps the reader will exclaim, ' Wliat of the 
operatives?' — you have passed them by unnoticed — the 
most interesting feature of the establishment you have 
omitted to mention ! ' 

Not so fast, my anxious friend. After we have gone 
all through the garden, we will discourse of the flowers ! 

Perhaps the mills, where finer fabrics are woven, afford 
the greatest treats to visitors — so let us take a view of 
the ' Hamilton,' or the ' Merrimack.' The reader may 
fancy whilst reading that he is in either — the arrange- 
ments of all are so nearly alike. 

After mounting a staircase so beautifully clean, that, to 
use a common phrase, one ' might eat off the boards,' we 
entered a spacious apartment, filled from one end to the 
other with looms and ladies, as far as the eye covdd see. 
The former machines were in rapid motion. Hundreds 
and thousands of spindles v.'ere revolving with such 
velocity, that owing to an optical deception produced by 
the rapid motion, each looked like a little model of the 
' pillar of cloud,' enclosed in a glass shade. To and fro 
ran the shuttles between the threads, like a livmg thing, 
jumping miceasingly from one side to the other of its 
wire-barred cage. Whirl, whirl, whirl, went a thousand 
pinions, and delicate hands caught hold of spoked wheels 
which revolved as if they were running a race, and never 
intended to stop, just in the nick of time. In one part of 
the room young girls were bending over machines much 
like tambour frames, and very graceful they looked, too, 
as the ladies did m old times, when they sat at their 
' broidery.' To be sure, at Lowell there were no recesses, 



AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 79 

and no windows tlirough whose painted glass the sunbeams 
passed, turning the polished oaken floor, as it were, to 
radiant gems — nor were there gaily-dressed gentlemen 
with pointed beards and slashed hose, and feathers in 
their caps, playing on lutes, and citterns or guitars. No, 
nothing of the kind. Nor had the young operatives 
velvet bodices, or laced stomachers, or high-heeled shoes, 
or quilted petticoats. But better far, they had healthy, 
good-humored, pretty faces, and honestly-earned habili- 
ments ; and yes, I will say it, as nicely-shaped feet and 
neatly-turned ancles, as one might witness in a Duchess's 
drawing room. There, in the windows, instead of painted 
crystal, were flowers, and shrubs, and creeping green 
things, so that the place looked like an exliibition room, 
half horticultural and half mechanical, whilst the living 
creatures around tended both, for which, in return, the 
looms transmuted by an industrious kind of alchemy their 
toil into gold, and the green leaves and the flowers shed a 
cheerfulness around, and made the poetry of the place. 

Poetry in the mills ! Aye, there is plenty of it for the 
seekhig. It is no exotic, but a flower which blooms 
everywhere. Just sit down by this machine, from which 
is flowing a rivulet of whitest carded wool, soft as a snow 
flake, and gaze on those ' factory girls.' You do not see 
one unhappy face — not a furrowed brow— -not a tearful 
eye. There they stand, not in enchanted gardens — not 
in halls of giddy revelry — not in places where the atmos- 
phere only nourishes sickly sentimentality. They are all 
in the noblest of paths — the path of duty. With a noble 
energy they have flung aside all false feeling, and rightly 
deeming that labor is honorable, they spend here the long 
hours of the day in the exercise of happy industry, and in 
the enjojTuent of a cheerful hope. 



80 LOWELL MILLS, 

Look at yonder dove-like-eyed girl, who is just dexter- 
ously mending a broken thread — just mark that open 
brow, and that beautifully-shaped head, and don't forget 
whilst you are looking, to admire those graceful shoulders, 
and that fairy figure, not pinched up like an hour-glass, 
but left to grow as God pleases, and tell me, Avhether she 
does not look a thousand times more beautiful, factory 
girl as she is, than the high-bred syren whom we heard 
a few nights since, warbling Italian songs, and playing 
undescribable waltzes. The flush of youth and heart- 
happiness is on her cheeks, and her eye lights up as she 
pauses amidst her work, and thinks of the far-away home 
among the green mountains — a home Avherein the old 
folks are enabled partly through her, to sit cosily down 
by the ' ingle nook.' A home which she has helped them 
to make their own. Aye — often she goes back, spite of 
the spmdles around her, and whilst her hand mechanically 
works, to the sweet hill-side, and she sees the brook, the 
■well-known brook, flowing on to its own music, now in 
light and now in shade, but whether in either, singing 
like a contented mind. She hears the small bird among 
the branches, and all the old familiar sights and sounds 
return to her, and gladden her pure mind. Perhaps she 
has a brother — some thoughtful-browed, bookish lad, Avho 
sits quietly brooding over books, and whose highest ambi- 
tion it is to stjxnd in the sacred desk and preach ' peace 
on earth and good will to man.' She remembers that 
promising lad, and with a sister's affection she counts the 
hours less long, and the toil less monotonous, because she 
is enabled by means of her exertions to gratify the heart's 
desire of one wlio is so dear to her. And then when 
work hours are over, there are letters to write, and on 



AND THE MILL-OCRACY. 81 

Sabbath, during the intervals of worship, there are 
thoughts of home and the old parish church, to cher- 
ish — and hope which ' springs eternal in the human 
breast,' cheers her. Love, too, may fling some flowers 
on her pathway, for the darling deity is not to be scared 
away by the sound of wheels. And now, reader, is there 
no poetry in a cotton mill ? 

' Look at these young persons,' said the estimable 
gentleman avIio accompanied me through the mill which I 
first alluded to — ' there is not one bad-looking face in 
it ' — and it was so — every eye was bright with virtue 
and intelligence — there were no down looks, nothing to 
make you think of the line — 

'Dark ^ice would turn abash'd away;' 

but every face was open and fair as the day. Honest 
independence Avas inscribed on every brow, and it did my 
heart good to hear the same gentleman say, ' I am under 
as much obligations to these girls, as they are to me — 
they give me the full value for what I give them.' 

But there are other places worth seeing, and we are on 
our way to the carpet factory, escorted by a kind friend 
who has sufficient influence to ensure our admittance, for 
it is not the easiest matter to see the carpet-weaving. It 
would be perfectl}' absurd in me to attempt any descrip- 
tion of the machinery, at which I stared in monstrous 
surprise. Talk of Arabian Nights — why the wonders 
of the Eastern tales were nothing to the miracles of a 
carpet power-loom, where shuttles, filled with different 
colored threads, ran hither and thither without hands, and 
with such celerity that brilhant flowers grew beneath the 
eye, as if by magic. The scene was very lively, and as 



82 LOWELL MILLS, ETC. 

the young ladies, who attended the looms, stood sur- 
rounded by their brilliant fabrics, they appeared like so 
many overgrown Fairies, making enchanted carpets for 
some young Prince, whose castle, like Aladdin's, Avas to 
spring up in a night. 

Having glanced our fill at these pretty specimens of 
human Arachnoida> , we were shown the power-loom, 
invented by Dr. Bigelow for weaving Brussels carpet. 
How on earth it could enter into the heart of man to 
conceive such a complicated affair, I cannot imagine. 
Unluckily it was not at work Avhen I saw it, but the gen- 
tleman who accompanied us, explained the principle, 
which I vainly endeavored to comprehend. To do so, 
one had need of just such a head as the inventor. 

Somewhat wearied with sight-seeing, we left the mills 
and paid a pleasant visit to the Hospital — and surely 
never was an institution of the kind more delightfully 
situated. I had been used in visiting such places, to see 
sick people in wards, but I do not remember to have seen, 
until now, hospital patients in parlors, some of which 
looked out to a spacious garden. I received the most 
polite attention from Dr. Kimball and his amiable and 
gifted lady, and after spending a pleasant brace of hours, 
repaired to the ' Stone House,' with which place I have 
already made my readers acquainted. 

Thus end my reminiscences of Lowell — a city which I 
took a strange liking to when I first entered it — a liking 
which a better acquaintance with it has not diminished. 
Should I ever visit it again, I shall, I feel assured, reap 
new harvests of knowledge, and if I do not, I shall not 
soon forget the kindness of persons in it, who always 
made my stay there so delightful, that the worst part of 
the place was the road which led/ro/w it. 



THE STATE PRISON. 83 



THE STATE PRISON. 



A SHORT time since, at the invitation of a friend, I 
accompanied him, on a fine summer's afternoon, to that 
gloomv abode at Charlestown, known as the State Prison ; 
and, within the last day or two, having again inspected 
the place, I propose to make my visits the subject of some 
sketchy remarks, which I hope may not be altogether 
uninteresting. 

On my first visit, I had been amongst the woods near 
INIalden for some days previously, enjoying natural sights 
and rural sounds, and felt any thing but disposed to drive 
away pleasant recollections by the sight of iron bars, and 
stone Avails, and melancholy prisoners ! The very word 
grated unpleasantly on my ear, after I had been so lux- 
uriathig in the blessings of freedom. Prisoners on that 
bright, sunny day ! Could it be that living human behigs 
were shut out from their kind — from the streets, the 
fields, an<l the highways ? For a moment, although I 
knew that it was so, I mused in vague wonder, and then 
prepared to go and witness one of the dark pages of the 
mj'sterious book of human life I 

Through busy streets, over a long Avooden bridge, and 
along a railway track, we proceeded towards a huge 
building of grey stone. It was of no particular order of 
architecture. Sepulchres for the dead, and cells for the 



84 THE STATE PRISON. 

living need little of style about them, nor are their inhabi- 
tants very particular in this respect. So perhaps it is as 
Avell that no outward exhibition or ornament should mock 
the gloom and desolation within. 

After passing through a court yard and ascending a 
flight of stone steps, we entered a large, low, square 
apartment, the Avails of which were ornamented with guns, 
some comfortably wrapt up m woollens, and others of such 
a fierce and warlike appearance, that their state of repose 
seemed little less than marvellous. There were great 
brass-mounted horse pistols, too, with their muzzles stuck 
ferociously into thick leathern holsters ; and swords of 
monstrous sizes dangled from pegs, all giving dusty 
evidence of piping times of peace. 

A hall-keeper, or turnkey, (I know not his exact desig- 
nation,) sat in this apartment, in a chair, close to a 
window which overlooked the prison yard, reading a 
newspaper, from which every now and then he raised his 
eyes, and gazed through the panes, as if some great and 
urgent necessity required his attention in that direction. 
About half a dozen squashes, a stove, a list of officers' 
turns on duty, indicated by little pegs stuck in a board 
with holes drilled in it to receive them, and a few chairs 
and a desk, constituted the furniture of the place, which, 
from its containmg the fragment of an armory alluded to, 
was called a ' guard room.' 

There was a room adjoining this, on the walls of which 
were hung some quaint pictui^es of ships in distress, and 
other pleasant matters of that kind, and over the fire-place 
was a view in oil of the prison yard, including a procession 
of the inmates in their motley-colored dress, which was 
introduced to enliven the scene. I cannot say much for 



THE STATE PRISON. 85 

the execution of these works of art, which I do not 
remember to have seen in any catalogue extant. 

Having exhibited our passports, the officer, thrusting 
liis head hito a recess near the window, did, by means of 
some corapHcated machinery, cause a distinct ratthng of 
bars, and the opening of a door outside. Through an 
inner and then through an outer gate we passed, and 
found ourselves at the head of some stone steps, down 
which we went into the yard of the prison. 

It was a dismal, damp, sloppy locality. Two or three 
men, clad in motley-colored dresses and grotesque caps, 
eyed us askant as we walked along, and then turned 
sullenly to their occupation of moving some loose stones. 
There was that afternoon to be an address delivered to 
the prisoners on Temperance, and of a tall, burly keeper, 
who stood by with his hands and half of his arms buried 
in immense pockets, we inquired our way to the chapel. 
He directed us to a long, low range of buildings opposite 
to where we stood, and we were soon seated in the Prison 
sanctuary. 

This place of worship had no gothic arches, nor clus- 
tered pillars, nor traceried and fretted roof, nor windows 
affording a dim religious light. There were no pleasantly- 
situated pews, so curtained oif, and so luxuriously cushioned 
that one could hardly confess oneself a ' miserable sinner ' 
whilst in them. Nor were there magnificent altar pieces, 
or carved cherubim, or stately monuments emblazoned 
with graven and gilded lies. No — none of these things. 
The walls were whitewashed, the roof was plain. The 
only thing approaching to the similitude of a pillar was 
the stove pipe, and this faint resemblance was almost 
destroyed by its zigzag shape. The benches were of plain 



86 THE STATE PEISON. 

timber, the pulpit unomamented, and nothing but exces* 
sive cleanliness Tvas very conspicuous. Near the pvilpit 
■were one or two raised seats, for the warden and visitors, 
and to one of them v,e were shown. 

Without being pleasantly chimed to church, the congre- 
gation came in. Sexton and beadle were not, but every 
forty or fifty men who entered were attended by a keeper. 
Tramp — tramp — tramp went their thick shoes, as they 
proceeded down the aisle to their respective seats. At 
length the place Avas filled with men of all ages — a 
congregation of crime. 

At the far end of the room a dozen or more of the 
prisoners sat somewhat apart. They had a violin, a 
clarinet, and a few flutes. This was the prison choir. 
The musical instruments looked strangely out of place 
there, and I almost fancied, as they lay near each other, 
that if they were left alone they would get up a small 
lively concert on their own account, in order to dispel the 
gloom of the place. They had not, however, the oppor- 
tunity, for their services were soon put in requisition. 

A solemn congregation was that, and one which of 
itself preached a touchhig sennon from the text, ' The 
way of transgressors is hard.' ' Be sure thy sins will 
find thee out,' Avas as plainly written on the walls as if a 
shadowy hand had inscribed it there in luminous charac- 
ters. Every one of the prisoners was clad in a uniform 
of grey and dingy red coarse cloth. Their persons were 
all clean — their hair well brushed — and amongst them 
I observed many whose countenances bespoke no mean 
powers of mind. There were old grey-headed sinners, 
over whose faces Time and Crime had gone hand in hand, 
ploughing deep furrows- — and young men beside them 



THE STATE PRISON. 87 

who wore reckless smiles, which were fast changing into 
looks of perfect hardihood. Some scowled — others 
leered at their companions — many sat with subdued, 
saddened countenances — and many appeared intelhgent, 
and would, hut for the prison dress, have looked even 
manly. But that garb of disgrace half suppressed the 
beatings of many a heart, chafed the spirit, and forced 
its wearer to bear about with him a visible degradation, 
perhaps — terrible idea — through Life! 

It Avould be foreign to my purpose to give a sketch of 
the lecture or the lecturer here. After the address had 
terminated, a prayer was offered up, in which the sup- 
pliant entreated that God in his mercy would bless the 
prisoners, their mothers, v.'ives, and children ; and at the 
mention of these dear familiar names, many an eye grew 
dhn with tears. Then followed a piece of music, loudly 
and lustily, if not skillfully, smig, and the service was 
concluded. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, again, as in long files, and sep- 
arate detachments, the prisoners left the chapel. As 
they passed through the court yard they drew up in 
ranks for a minute or two, underwent a slight drill, and 
then, each one taking with him a small vessel of water, 
was conducted to his cell — some to ponder over the past, 
some to contemplate the future, and a few to Avish that 
the dreary life which was and always would be, bounded 

by the dim cells of a prison, were ended. 

* *- * # * 

I paid a second visit to the prison a day or two since, 
for the purpose of Avitnessing the every-day occupations 
of the persons confined there ; and before I pen any 
description of what I saw, I feel it a duty and a pleasure 



»» THE STATE PRISON. 

to acknowledge the courtesy of the Warden, Mr. Robin- 
son, who accompanied me in mj romids, and pointed out 
everj object deserving of notice. 

On entering the great yard of the place, I was forcibly 
struck with the difference between it and that of any 
other institution of the kind I had ever witnessed. Here 
were heaps of furniture in different stages of manufacture ; 
and if the men about had not worn the prison dress, I 
should have imagined myself to have been in a cabinet 
maker's wholesale establishment. All around were work- 
shops of different trades, and the hum of labor was every 
where heard ; but I must defer my tour through the 
building until my next, when I shall have the pleasure of 
presenting the reader with some interesting facts which I 
picked up in my ' loitering,' and with a poem, written by 
one of the prisoners, which is a remarkable production 
of its kind, and will, I am sure, be read with no little 
interest. 



A VISIT TO THE STATE PRISON. 89 



A VISIT TO THE STATE PRISON— A PRISON POET. 

[concluded.] 



Passing through the prison yard in company with the 
warden, who obHgingly afforded me evei'y facility for 
examining the establishment, I entered an immense shed 
where a number of men were engaged in shaping huge 
blocks of granite and mill stones. They were every one 
clothed in the prison garb of dingy red and grey — 
and as they busily labored, there was an evident differ- 
ence between them and those who wrought in freedom. 
Here there was nothing of that cheerfulness which ap- 
pears on the countenances of those who rise with the 
lark and go to their daily avocations, which are cheered 
by the prospect of repose in a happy home. Not a man, 
or even boy, of them all, whistled a merry tune, or, 
amid the brief intervals of labor, burst forth into a joyous 
stave. There was only the dull click of the hammer, or 
the sharp sound of a chisel. Labor in this place ruled 
with a rod of iron, and his slaves looked dogged and 
discontented, for there was not that hope of reward to 
sweeten the daily toil wdiich urges on the freeman, as he 
guides the plough, or drives the wheel. As we passed 
on, I could observe furtive glances, and ferocious looks, 
and sullen scowls, and the thought rapidly passed across 
my mind, ' What is to hinder all these men, whom laws 
8*- 



90 A VISIT TO THE STATE PEISON. 

could not terrify from the commission of crime, from 
rising, and, armed as thej are with those ponderous ham- 
mers, attacking the few persons who guard them ? It 
would seem an easy thing enough to have despatched 
the Warden and myself whilst among them, iJut a look 
of his warned them into obedience and subjection, and 
we passed on harmless. 

' There are none convicted of any capital crime in this 
department,' said the Warden, in reply to a question 
which I put to him ; ' but in the next workshop there are 
several murderers,' 

We entered a place where a number of prisoners were 
engaged m making brushes, and other articles. At the 
upper end of the apartment was a boiler, by which Avas 
standing some men, engaged in felting. Pointing to one 
of them, my companion said, ' There is a murderer ! ' 

I looked in the direction he indicated, and saw a 
colored man of a stature below the middle size, and of a 
light, active-looking frame. There was nothing ferocious, 
but something very determined, in his countenance, and 
I should not have taken him for one who had shed his 
fellow-man's blood. This was Peter York, who, the 
reader will remember, killed a man at the entrance of a 
house of bad repute in Boston. He was condemned to 
be hanged, but his sentence was commuted to imprison- 
ment for life. 

' Look at that man a little way behind him,' said the 
guide ; ' there is another murderer ; he killed two men 
and almost massacred another.' 

I did as he directed me, and observed a man who 
might have numbered some sixty years ; he was grey- 
headed, of an athletic form, not at all bowed by age, and 



A PRISON POET. 91 

was engaged making kegs for white lead. Seeing that 
he was an object of attention, he paused amidst his work, 
and turning round looked me full in the face, and so 
repulsive a countenance I have very rarely seen. The 
grotesque prison cap which he wore, was stuck on the 
summit of his head, and the point of it standing up over 
his forehead, and the two side pieces of the rim projecting 
over his ears, somewhat like horns, made him look not 
unlike the pictures of Mephistopheles in Restch's Outlines 
of Faust. His eyes were very large, of a light color, and 
impudently diabolical in their expression ; he had a small 
nose, a large mouth, and a pointed chin. Altogether he 
looked the very incarnation of evil. 

The name of the murderer of almost three fellow crea- 
tures was Seth Perry. He had been a rum-seller, and 
in his drunken frenzy had shot down three of his cus- 
tomers, victims to intemperance ! Here was a terrible 
exam})lc to those who ' tarry long at the wine,' a fearful 
specimen of the effects of the trade in that which intoxi- 
cates. There stood the murderer imabashed, uncon- 
foiinded, and apparently as unconcerned as if the blood 
of his brethren had not gone up to God, with a cry of 
vengeance. By some means or other he had on\y been 
convicted of manslaughter, and so was condemned to 
im})risonment for a long term of years ; after that, per- 
haps he will, on leaving his prison, resume his trade of 
death, for unless the majesty of the law shall restrict and 
abolish the abominable traffic in alcohol, there will be 
nothing to hinder such men as the murderous rum-seller 
from killing by poison as well as by bullet. 

I turned, with shuddering repugnance, from the 
wretched man, and when I had gone some distance from 



92 A VISIT TO THE STATE PRISON. 

him I looked round, and there he was, his head resting 
on a stone, his great grey eyes staring at me, his lips 
compressed, and his brow knit up as if in defiance. He 
looked perfectly frightful. If ever there was a heart 
which could or would not repent, it must, I think, have 
been the one which had the breast of that hardened- 
looking old man. 

We next went into a shop where cabmet goods were 
being manufactured. Sofas in diiferent stages of con- 
struction were all around, and scores of men were busy 
in making different articles of furniture. I was informed 
that, although every one I saw seemed to be an expert 
workman, scarcely one in ten of those who became in- 
mates of the prison had any knowledge of a trade, Avhen 
they first entered their gloomy abode. The good effects 
of thus providing the prisoners with the means of learning 
their trade when they regained their hberty, was shown 
by the fact that comparatively very few became a second 
time, tenants of the gloomy abode. 

' There is another murderer,' said the Warden — ' that 
stupid-looking man yonder, perfectly harmless when sober, 
but Avhen drunk there is no controlling him ; he got intox- 
icated and murdered a woman with a scythe ; he actually 
mowed her doum. That rather good-looking prisoner,' he 
continued, ' murdered a man, under cii'cumstances of 
great provocation ; he has been here many years, and will 
probably get pardoned out ; he behaves very well, as 
indeed, all of those convicted of murder do.' 

I asked him the reason why this should be the case, 
but failed to ascertain the precise cause. As, however, 
every one, or nearly every one of the prisoners who had 
committed murder, did so Avhile under the influence of 



A PRISON POET. 93 

liquor, it may fairly be assumed that the withdrawal of 
the maddening potations was the cause of their altered 
conduct. I leave this, however, for others to decide 
upon. 

We visited the hospital, which was well ventilated, and 
contained but few patients, who were for the most part 
complaining of summer cholera ; then we went to the 
kitchen, Avhich Avas exquisitely neat and clean ; to the 
bakery, wash-houses, &c., where all the arrangements 
were perfect of their kind. 

In going round the cells and on inspecting their inte- 
riors, I could not but remark the difterent manner in 
which they were kept by the prisoners. In some, no 
attention had been paid beyond what was actually neces- 
sary, and in others, on the contrary, the few little com- 
forts allowed in the place had been made the most of. 
The neatest cell Avas that of a murderer — an old man 
who had stabbed a girl to whom he was paying attention, 
because she would not marry him, and he was determined 
she should have nobody else. There Avere little strips of 
carpet by the side of his bunk, books on some shelves, 
and from some scraps of tin he had plaited ornamental 
baskets Avhich Avere placed on a shelf. There were also 
some books and pictures in the place. The cells Avere in 
tiers, one above the other, round Avhich ran galleries. 
Only one individual occupied each, and the utmost clean- 
liness and comfort (for such a place) was observable. 
' The best way to reform men,' said my guide, ' is to 
make them comfortable.' 

We now visited the shop where tAvo engravers were at 
work. One of them Avas a pale, worn-out, anxious-looking 
man, engaged in cutting a plate for one of the Lowell 



94 A VISIT TO THE STATE PRISON. 

factories. He was evidently skillful in his occupation ; 
he sat at an open Avinclow, looking out on the bay, and as 
he spoke to me there was something inexpressibly sad in 
his countenance. He was confined there for some petty 
offence committed vfhilst he was in liquor — another fear- 
ful warning to the intemperate. 

After we had left him, the Warden said to me, ' That 
man has written some verses on his imprisonment. A 
few days ago he told me that he had some thoughts in his 
head which he should like to write down if I would allow 
him the use of a pencil and paper. I did so, and he 
presented me with a poem the day before yesterday.' 

By the kind permission of Mr. Robinson, I am enabled 
to lay the poem before my readers, and they will at once 
perceive that it is the production of a thinking man. 
Without possessing any great merit as a poetical produc- 
tion, it conveys a powerful moral lesson and a warning. 
Preferring that the poor prison poet should tell his own 
story, I subjoin his lines in preference to indulging in any 
moral disquisitions myself on the subject of my visit to the 
State Prison : 

LINES 

WRITTEN BY A CONVICT IN MASSACHUSETTS STATE PKISON. 

Oft have I paced this lonely cell, 

With care-woi'ii brow and heaving breast, 
And vainly seeking for some spell 

To lull this troubled heart to rest ; 
I've search'd each nook in mem'ry's store, — • 

Have trac'd my course from infancy, — 
And call'd up friends who are no more, 

Who loved me well, whcu I was free. 



A PRISON POET. 95 

I 've thought to slmn that chilling blast, 

That swept my early hopes away, 
And from the shadow of the Past, 

Have tried to gleam a cheering ray ; 
I've loitered long- on childhood's years, 

When kindly friends encircled me, 
Supplied my wants, dried up my tears, — 

Then I was happy, — I was free. 

But weary thought returns again, 

And then reality appears ; 
It only adds to error's chain. 

Those links that have been hid for years. 
I cannot hide those guilty stains, 

I cannot shun my misery ; 
Of all my friends not one remains — 

'T is vain to think I e'er was free. 

My wife, my partner of the past. 

Who vowed before the holy shrine, 
As long as life's brief course should last, 

To link her earthly lot with mine — 
They say she has annulled that vow, 

And ta'en my babes away from me ; 
And even she forgets ine now. 

Who loved so well when 1 was free. 

My friends they left me one by one, 

Like ruthless leaves when summer 's past, 
That leave the stem they rested on 

Alone, to bear the winter's blast ; 
And I alone my grief endure, 

E'en pity lias no tear for me ; 
And, if she had, 't would not restore 

Departed days, when I was free. 

Yet Hope ! still faithful to the last, 

( The prisoner sees her glitteiing rays 
Like (jeriis into his dungeon cast,) 

She bids me look for better days. 
And then experience points a course 

And from temptation bids me flee, 



96 A VISIT TO THE STATE PRISON. 

And bids me join this Temperance force ; 

The Temperance Pledge will keejj me free. 

'T was Alcoliol, deceitful tiend ! 

That hired me with his essence sweet. 
I only knew him as a friend, 

I had not seen his cloven feet. 
But now, the scales are from my eyes ; 

His hideous form too plain I see. 
To trust again whate'er his guise ; 

I '11 spurn his path when I am free. 

Some are there who may think me gay, 

And deem I need not pity's tear, — 
'T is only feigned, to hide away 

The son'ow that is lurking here. 
And ah ! they know not with what power 

The prisoner feels adversity, 
Wlien at lone midnight's sleepless hour, 

He thinks on days when he was free. 

Oh ! reader, may you never feel 

Those Jiangs that sting a guilty breast, 

The throbbing wound that cannot heal. 
The troubled mind that cannot rest. 

Such sorrows that no tongue can tell. 
Of want, and woe, and misery. 

The prisoner feels in his lone cell. 
With heart that 's panting to be free. 

He knows there is another cell. 

Where Hope no more can shed her rays, 
Where sinners must with demons dwell, 

Where dark despair her sceptre sways. 
'T is there repentance is too late. 

He 's doomed to all eternity. 
He feels the justice of his fate. 

He knows he never can be free. 

But God, benevolent, can save 
The sinner from so dark a doom ; 

There is a power, that robs the grave, 
And saves the victim from its gloom. 



A PRISON POET. 97 

There is a Lamb for sinners slain ; 

Behold the Saviour 's on a tree ! 
His blood can cleanse the guiltiest stain, 

And set the weary captive free. 

These fettered limbs had parent's care, 

Who showed the path of rectitude. 
And taught these lips to lisp a prayer, 

To Father for my daily food ; 
Now to that Father I will go, 

And daily bow the humble knee ; 
And seek His aid to heal my woe. 

To keep me now, and when I 'm free. 

And if these erring feet should tread, 

Once more upon this world's broad stage, 
I '11 strive to earn my daily bread. 

From precepts in the sacred page ; 
I '11 strive to do by other men 

As I would they should do by me ; 
And God will make me happy then. 

And from a prison keep me free. C. M. 



98 A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 



A VISIT TO THE FAEM SCHOOL. 



On a bright and beautiful morning, a short time since, 
I accepted the invitation of one of the managers of that 
excellent institution, the Boston Asylum and Farm 
School for Indigent Boys, situated on Thompson's Island, 
to pay it a visit, and accordingly at nine of the clock, I 
stepped on the deck of Captain Beal's beautiful steamer, 
the ' May Flower,' and was soon fast sailing across the 
blue waters, whilst the city lay behind us in the clear 
sunshine, like a beautiful panorama — the dome of the 
State House looming up, resemblmg a little Samt Paul's. 

I had a great anxiety to see this place, and for tliis 
reason — that we have not in England any institutions of 
a similar kind. I was desirous of seeing how the system 
worked, and to add to my list of admirable institutions 
already visited, yet another. 

It was, it seemed, the day appointed for the occasional 
visit of the friends of the boys to the Island — and the 
deck of the steamer was crowded with little groups, who 
were laden with savory presents for their young relatives. 
They all looked happy in anticipation, and as we neared 
the island, it was quite delightfid to see how faces bright- 
ened up, and how bundles were got ready, and how they 
all crowded to the head of the boat to be in readiness to 



A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 99 

jump ashore first, and say all manner of kind things to 
the Farm School boys. 

I am sure that I need not say any thing about the 
rules, regulations, or objects of the institution. Every 
one whose eyes may rest on these pages will be thor- 
oughly acquainted with them, for I do not even suppose 
that any citizen of Boston can be ignorant of the particu- 
lars respecting its numerous benevolent institutions. I 
shall only repeat then what a gentleman said to me on 
board the ' May Flower : ' ' That little island reminds one 
of the old mythological fables of Latona, who, when she 
had no place on earth for her to bring forth and rear up 
her young, had an island created for her own special 
uses ; and something like it exists here, for when the 
boys who prowl about our city streets, fatherless, mother- 
less, forlorn, and homeless, are discovered, tliis little 
Thompson's Island rises as a refuge for them, and here 
they are sheltered and educated until they are fit to go 
forth into the great world and battle manfully with it.' 

As soon as we landed, we proceeded Avith the living 
stream of fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters, to the 
main building, which is an edifice constructed of brick, 
and of very neat and substantial appearance, consisting 
of a projecting centre and two wings. Mounting a few 
stairs, and turning to the right, we found ourselves in 
the school room, a spacious apartment, forty-eight feet 
long b}^ thirty-three wide, and well lighted and ventilated. 
On this joyous occasion, great pains had been taken by 
the boys to decorate it, and in every window there were 
great bunches of asparagus plant, on the sprays of which 
were tied different colored flowers, which gave them 



100 A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 

somewhat the appearance of floricultural harlequins. 
Over the windows, opposite the entrance door, were the 
words 

' Gratitude to our Benefactors,' 

in letters of evergreen, and beneath it was a prettily and 
gailj-painted banner, with ' Speed the Plough ' inscribed 
upon it. 

The school bojs, when we entered, were all sitting 
at their desks, neatly clad, and with ' shining morrdng 
faces ; ' before each was a bouquet of flowers, plucked 
from their own flower garden, but as soon as their rela- 
tives entered the school room, their visages grew so bright 
that the flowers Avere quite cast into the shade. It was 
a cheerful and a happy sight. 

In the course of a minute or two almost every one of 
the boys had a circle of friends round him, who were 
evidently making numerous and anxious inquii'ies — and 
replying to numberless questions in return. Here was 
an anxious mother with her fingers fidgetting about her 
little boy's hair — now brushing it up, now parting it on 
one side, and then smoothing it doAvn again. Then little 
boxes were opened, and young eyes peered into them, 
and saw the sweetmeats and fruit with glistening eyes 
and twitching fingers. Some of the relatives absolutely 
cried for joy, whilst the boys whimpered, and looked fool- 
ish ; and to judge by all that was going on, one would 
have thought such another meeting had not taken place 
for a twelvemonth before. 

But amongst the boys was one little fellow, who sat 
apart from the rest — no one to say, ' How do you do ? ' 
to him ; no kmd hand to grasp his ; no motherly voice to 



A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 101 

greet him with its affectionate tones. Every one else 
ahnost had a visitor but himself, and there he sat with his 
little earnest blue eyes brimful of tears, and his chest 
heaving as if his heart would burst, and he fidgetted with 
the flowers before him, until leaf after leaf fell from the 
stocks, which were bare and lonely like his own miserable 
self. Poor little fellow, how I pitied him ! I declare 
that I never longed for molasses candy, or something of 
that kind before ; and I made a mental resolution that in 
future I would never visit such places without a provision 
for a similar contingency. 

But there was another mourner there, a young lady in 
deep mourning, whose eyes were red with weeping. Poor 
girl, she had had a brother at the school who recently 
died ; and now, the sight of liis little desk, and the seat 
where she used to look at him, with such hope for the 
future, and gratitude for the present ; and of his young 
companions all full of glee and gladness, lifting up their 
voices whilst his was silent in the ground, affected her to 
weeping. Well, such is life — 

• Wherever is a meeting sweet, 
There partings follow those who meet.' 

Yes, too often, the kiss is but the prelude to a groan. 

It being usual on these occasions for the boys to exhibit 
proofs of theu' progress, the business of the morning com- 
menced, by two lads reciting the dialogue between Alex- 
ander and the Robber. Alexander had on a blue sash, 
and with his right hand flourished a marshal's baton, 
made out of a sheet of writmg paper and a bit of blue 
ribbon — the boy who enacted the hero being one of the 
marshals of the day. Then came a recitation of Walter 
9* 



102 A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 

Scott's description of a battle scene, and afterwards 
another dialogue between a Sultan and Mr. John How- 
ard. Beside this, a piece of poetry, written by the excel- 
lent matron, was spoken, and the following hymn, also 
the product of her kind pen, was sung (I should say) at 
the commencement of the proceedings : 

Welcome, kind friends ! once more we meet 

In Summer's joyful ray ; 
Once more -vfith hands and hearts we greet 

Our lo^'ing friends to-day. 

And while our hearts are gushing up 

With filial love and joy, 
Oh ! take from us the proffered cup 

We give without alloy. 

And thanks and blessings too we give, 

And prayers both night and day, 
That you on earth may happy live. 

And happy be for aye. 

We ask for this but one boon more, 

The cup we gave to you ; 
Oh ! give it back, and brimming o'er, 

Filled with affection's dew. 

And for our patrons, one and all, 

We have affections kind ; 
May He who notes the sparrow's fall, 

Cheer them in heart and mind. 

We 'II wet a garland for their brow. 

With orphans' grateful tears ; 
We '11 bless the hand that feeds us now 

By being good for years. 

There was to have been a speech from one of the boys, 
who was deputed to present to John D. Williams, Esq., 



A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 103 

a handsome bouquet of their own garden flowers — but 
unfortunately that gentleman was not present, and so the 
speech was written and sent with the floral oifering to the 
gentleman. It was a humble but heartfelt testimonial of 
the gratitude of these poor boys, and therefore I have 
thought the unspoken speech worthy of notice here. 

After the recitations, &c., had concluded, I paid visits 
to the different apartments, and was not a little pleased 
with the admirable arrangements every where observable. 
The sleeping rooms of the boys were admirably calculated 
to promote their health and comfort, and the cooking 
department had a letter of recommendation in every 
scholar's countenance. Sure am I, that with so kind a 
lady superintendent, the little fellows must be happy — 
and as for Mr. Morrison, one of the lads assured us, that 
' the Master was as good as father to them.' 

To the martial music of a drum the boys assembled on 
the green sward, and paraded for some time backward 
and forward, m true military style, as a friend whis- 
pered in our ear, ' why, they are the happiest lads in the 
world,' and really we believed liim. There they were, 
reclaimed from the streets and lanes of the city, far away 
from evil influences, and safely folded on this beautiful 
spot, with education provided, and employment afforded. 
I wished, as I gazed, that such like institutions abounded 
on the other side of the Atlantic. The only jealousy 
between the ' Old Country ' and this, should be as to who 
should be most forward m doing good by promoting the 
founding of such beneficial establishments. This would 
be better than blazing away at each other, at all events. 
And well did it become, in my opinion, some of Boston's 
wealthy sons, to be present, and by their countenance 



104 A VISIT TO THE FARM SCHOOL. 

give encouragement to these poor boys. Oh ! the pleas- 
ant look and the kmd word is never thrown away, and the 
poor and the destitute have a right to them. But I am 
not going to moralize, and will conclude this paper by 
relating one of the most beautiful anecdotes touching 
kindness to the unfortunate, that I ever heard related. 

Mrs. Fry, who is so well known throughout Christen- 
dom in consequence of her efforts in behalf of poor pris- 
oners and insane people, was once speaking to a company 
of maniacs, in her soft, low tones, when one of them, a 
young man, who had been quieted by her gentle demeanor, 
put his fingers on his lips and said to her, ' Hush ! the 
angels have lent you their voices.' It was an exquisitely 
beautiful and poetic idea ; a solitary fine tone from a 
shattered lyre ; and it would be well for us often to 
remember that the ministering angels are ever hovering 
around our pathway, and that whenever we meet on the 
world's highway with a fainting wanderer, we have the 
privilege of borrowing their tones, and pouring them, like 
balm, upon the lacerated or bruised heart. 

But the May Flower comes gliding to the wharf, and 
bidding farewell to the boys, who follow us with eager 
eyes, we embark for our short and smmy homeward trip. 



A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 105 



A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 



What a rapacious thing the Public is ! What a greedy- 
maw it has ; and how soon after it has bolted one morsel 
or tidbit does it, like Ohver Twist, cry out for ' more.' 
Trulj the eye is never tired of seeing or the ear of 
hearing : but insatiate as it is, the Boston Public has at 
last a hon bouche, which will not, I miagine, fail to satisfy 
it for some time to come. 

I was taking a quiet stroll a day or two since down 
Washington street, and happened to look towards the 
Marlboro' Chapel, when I saw a sight which at first I 
could not understand. The entrance to what used to be 
the Chapel seemed to have been metamorphosed by some 
of the genii of the lamp, who existed in Aladdin's time, 
for in lieu of sombre-colored doors, and grave-looking 
gentlemen about them, was a magnificent lacquered and 
gilt cornice, and beneath it, what I was informed was 
called the ' Tsoi-moon,' or Lucky-door, a grotesque, yet 
gracefully-formed panelled frame, embellished with drag- 
ons of all descriptions, from very fierce and rampant 
specimens, to the most docile and amiable dragon-ettes 
conceivable. Over the door were strange-looking golden 
letters, which being translated meant that within was to 
be seen ' An extensive view of the Central Flowery 
Nation,' and having been assured by another inscription 



106 A \t:sit to the Chinese museum. 

that ' "words might deceive, but that the eje could not play 
the rogue,' we accepted the polite invitation of the pro- 
prietors, and went into the interior of -^ the Chinese 
Museum — we had almost said China, and if we had, we 
should not have been very far out either. 

Why, cmi that be, of a verity, the interior of the Marl- 
boro' Chapel ? we exclaimed, as we gazed in wonder- 
ment at the strangely-gorgeous scene which suddenly 
presented itself to our astonished optics. As we ascended 
the stair-case, on either side of us were an immense num- 
ber of pictures, embracing subjects of all kinds, and all is 
' new and strange too ; ' but that was as nothing to the 
coup d'oeil as we stood in the large hall. It seemed for 
the moment as though we had sat upon the wonderful 
blanket, of which Ave had all of us read in the Arabian 
Nights, on which a person having placed himself, and 
wished to be transported to any particular place, was, by 
enchantment, conveyed to his desired destination in the 
twinkling of an eye. Yes, there could scarcely be a 
doubt of the matter, for just now we were in Washington 
street — there could not be a question as to that, and the 
mud on our stained boots was scarcely dried — • yet, lo ! 
how great the change — how miraculous the transition ! 

We are beneath a vast circular roof. From the ceiling 
hang innumerable Chinese lanthorns of all shapes and 
sizes. That one in the centre, of enormous magnitude, 
so graceful iii its shape and so gorgeous in its hues, sur- 
rounded by hosts of smaller and inferior ones, is a lan- 
thom of state. There it hangs, the monarch of light, like 
Joseph's sheaf, surrounded by those of his brethren who 
do it homage. We have seen such an one before now 
depicted on the pretty fans which have been brought from 



A VISIT TO THE CHIJ;rESE MUSEUM. 107 

the Celestial Empii-e, and on choice specimens of china, 
but we were apt to consider thera as perfectly imaginative. 
It is not so, however — there it hangs in all its scarlet 
and golden glories. 

Verily, the sons of the extensive Flowery Nation are 
an imaginative race, for there are lanthorns of shapes 
which would puzzle any one but a man with a corkscrew 
in his head to design. Yet they are very beautiful and 
brilhant. How gorgeous an effect must a Feast of Lan- 
thorns be in Canton or Pekiu, where millions of these 
butterfly lights are exhibited, if these specimens, which 
partly form the collection in the Chinese Museum, make 
so magnificent a show ! 

Over our heads, is an enormous dragon, who exhibits 
his sinuous length, and uplifts his gorgeous head, from 
the mouth of which issues a fearfully forked tongue. 
Brilliant are the monster's scales, and resplendent his 
tail, which he elevates, as if in the proud consciousness 
that he is a dragon of high degi'ee. Why, mandarin- 
reptile as he is, he would look Avith bitter scorn and con- 
tempt on all barbarian dragons whatever. That ancient 
and respectable beast, the ' Dragon of Wantley,' of whom 
we have heard such famous stories, would be beneath liis 
notice, and as for the dragon whom Saint George has 
made famous, he would be a mere common fighting crea- 
ture, too utterly contemptible for a hiss of recognition from 
his Celestialship. Then, on either side of him, mark those 
marvellously-shaped fish, with gaping mouths, and staring 
eyes — green and scarlet fishes, with golden fins ! But 
let us look around as well as above us — and lo ! what do 
we see ? 



108 A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 

Why here we are actually surrounded by, not only the 
productions, bvit the inhabitants, of China. And (we 
mxiHt have sat on the blanket) we are actually in the 
presence of the Emperor Taou Kwang (which meaneth, 
gentle reader, ' Reason's Glory,') and his Court. How 
gorgeous are the dresses of his Majesty, and of those 
JMandarins by whom he is surrounded ! Encircling the 
necks of each are strings of coral beads ; to the knobs of 
their caps are fastened those badges of rank, peacock's 
feathers ; and their bodies are covered by richly embroi- 
dered garments — so richly that all our ideas of Chinese 
splendor and gaud had never pictured any thing so really 
magnificent. Nor is it all outside show, for an attendant 
of the exhibition has partially removed the outer garment, 
and beneath it are other vestments equally ' rich and 
rare.' But pass we on, and behold Ave are before the 
Empress, seated in her dragon chair, and surromided by 
ladies of different ranks. Look at that sviperbly embroi- 
dered satin screen upon the wall behind her. It is what 
is called a ' Longevity Screen,' and such as are pre- 
sented to persons who have attained a virtuous old age ; 
but we must not anticipate the interesting catalogue, 
which, by the way, is a most interestmg document in 
itself, and ought to be in the hands of every visitor. 

Come we now to a Chinese Police Court, where a 
Mandarin of the fourth rank is the presiding justice. 
Before him, on his knees, is the unfortimate culprit, and 
officers on either side of him are giving him punishment 
in anticipation, by the exhibition of those interesting arti- 
cles, the whip and the bamboo whip. One mifortunate 
has already been sentenced, and there he sits confined in 
a tub, from Avhich only his head and hands project, like 



A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 109 

the head and fins of a turtle from its shell, the great dif- 
ference being that the testado Avas bom with a hard casing 
to fit him, and the man's outer casing is an awful bad fit, 
as his miserable physiognomy testifies. 

Next comes a religious group, and lo ! we behold a 
comfortable and sleek-looking Priest of Budha, seated in 
a state of mental al)straction, awaiting his absorption into 
nonentity, which his creed teaches him is the summit of 
happiness — far indeed above heaven. If the priest is to 
become nofliing, and the process be gradual, it will take a 
long time before he becomes invisible, for he is a portly- 
looking gentleman, and habited in lawn sleeves, and an 
Episcopal wig, might pass muster very well on the bench 
of Bishops. In the case which contains this priest are 
other fionires of ";reat interest, and also a Chinese tomb, 
which bears, in shape, an exact resemblance to the last 
letter of the Greek alphabet. Is it a coincidence or not 
that the end of all things, death, should be thus symbol- 
ized ? The scholar may find this an interesting subject 
of inquiry. 

If Mr. De Quincy were here he might feel interested 
in looking at yonder group. Lying in hstless beatitude 
is a Chinese, smoking opium, whilst his wife, seated near 
the coach, with the tobacco pipe in her hand, is about 
taking a cup of tea. Then there is a female servant, and 
altogether it presents a most interesting domestic scene in 
China. One feels inclined to sit doAvn and make oneself 
qmte at home. 

A music master ! Yes, as we live, we have fallen upon 
a real hving Chinese, who is surrounded by his strangely- 
shaped instruments. The figures we have hitherto been 
noticing were inanimate, although, it is true, so exqui- 
10 



110 A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 

sltelj fabricated, that tliey only required motio7i to make 
them perfect fac-similes of those who walk the streets, and 
dwell in the houses of the Celestial Empire. Reader, did 
you ever see a real flesh and blood John Chinaman ? 
Well, hei*e is one, and a singular being he is. There are 
indeed three in the establishment, and as they walk about 
with shaven heads, long plaited pigtails, broad faces, with 
high cheek bones, and little slits for eyes, and in the 
strangest of possible pantaloons, and shoes, they give an 
air of reality to the scene around which nothing else 
could. 

Listen to their music — one of them plays on a drum, 
another makes the most extraordinary noise on cymbals, 
and a third continually bangs a brass gong. Surely if 
that is a war tune, it must sound awfully in the ears of a 
foe. No imagination in the strain — no science, but the 
oddest and most wwcelestial noise is it we ever heard. 
Now, the Professor, who rejoices in the mellifluous name 
of Kawhing, takes an instrument resembling a guitar, and 
sings to it. Mercy on us, did mortal ever hear such a 
noise ? As a gentleman near us remarked, it was some- 
thing like a cat-concert on the tiles, only the feline music 
was an improvement on the Professor's. Certainly, taking 
the expression of the Professor's face and the intonations 
of his voice into consideration, this Chinese love-song was 
the most ridiculously laughable affair we ever met with. 
Dempster and Russell ! hide your diminished heads, for 
Professor Kaivldng will assuredly be the vocal lion of the 
day — 'none but himself can be his parallel.' One indi- 
vidual of a very unmusical and ferocious countenance, had 
the extreme brutality to say in our presence, after he had 
heard the Celestial music, that he ' could n't blame the 



A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. Ill 

English for shooting the Chinese.' That man had no 
music in his soul, and was fit for anything. 

Talking of the English shooting the Chinese, we are 
just opposite (quite appropos) to a group of Chinese sol- 
diers. One of them has a specimen of a gun in his hands, 
and it is well worthy of attention. The costume of the 
military is odd enough, and it is said that the pantaloons 
are made slack in order to allow of the exercise of agility. 
During the recent" war a whole regiment of Chinese were 
drilled into tumbling ! and they actually rushed down a 
hill with terrific shouts, and to a man, turning summer- 
sets ! Their object was to astonish the English soldiers 
by their agility, and to frighten them by the horrible 
noises they made, so that they would fall doAvn in terror, 
and then, in consequence of the tightness of their trowsers 
not be able to get up again, and so fall an easy prey. 
But John Bull was not to be done by a company of China- 
men turning topsy-turvy, and so, the troops very (juietly 
shot the Chinese flying, and very few of them cut any 
more capers in the air. Ridiculous as the matter may 
seem, it is a fact. But it would be an idle task were I to 
attempt to glance only at the many Avonders which are 
contained in this most interesting exhibition, which has not 
a parallel, I believe, hi the world. Here, the whole history 
of ' China as it is,' maybe read — its agriculture, marine, 
manufactures, architecture, studied, and an insight gained 
into its religion, manners, and customs, which cannot be 
obtained in any other way. I spent hours, and hope to 
spend many more there, for there is abundant food for 
thought which I have not even referred to. In short, the 
Chinese Museum is the Chinese nation in miniature. One 
may, as it were, walk along its streets — look into its 



112 A VISIT TO THE CHINESE MUSEUM. 

bazars — enter its temples — purchase of its trades-peo- 
ple — deal vnth. its brokers — be doctored by its physi- 
cians — drink tea Avith its ladies — and play Avith its chil- 
dren. But the reader must go and see for himself, the 
many wonders brought home to our own doors from the 
most singular country on earth, and listen to the Celestial 
music, which if not exactly the ' music of the spheres,' is 
almost as strange, and quite as mysterious. 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 113 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 



It is a pleasant thing occasionally to leave the great 
city — the brick and mortar Babylon — and go forth into 
some quiet village, where the everlasting hum of com- 
merce is unlieard, and the crowd of idolaters who inces- 
santly bow doAvn to the great idol, ' Mammon,' is unseen. 
Especially delightful is it, to me at least, on the last day 
of the week, to repair to some primitive village, and there 

' When the loud wagon is laid hv, 
And wearied beasts rest quietly,' 

spend the sacred Sabbath hours. In the country there 
is a quiet calm, above, beneath, and all around, which 
soothes the often-vexed mind, and tranquilizes the spirits 
which may have been bound down l)y the strife and tur- 
moil of the six Aveary working days, which have preceded 
it. I do not refer at all to places where holiday folks 
resort, peopling the privacy ; but to quiet, almost out-of- 
the-way country hamlets or villages, of Avhich few think, 
save those whose interests are bound up with them. Such 
a place is old Ipswich, and a friend having assured me 
that my antiquarian predilections Avould be gratified by a 
visit to it, I left Boston by the Eastern Railroad cars on 
10* 



114 A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 

Saturday evening, and after an hour's ride arrived at the 
town station. 

There are few places (by-places I mean, of course, 
towns or villages,) in America which in reality have any 
claims to antiquity. What is called an old house here, 
would be almost modern in England ; but so far as I have 
yet observed, Ipswich certainly has the most of venera- 
bihty about it in appearance. After a cheerful repast at 
the house of the pastor of the First Religious Society, a 
friend accompanied me in a stroll through the town, and 
a pleasant w^alk we had, in the bright moonlight, down the 
High, or as it is called more generally, ' Pudding' street, 
from the circumstance of a frolicsome set of young fellows 
having once upon a time taken some hard-boiled hog's 
pudding from an old woman's kettle, and played football 
with it down the street. There seems to be in Ipswich 
quite a rage for nicknames, for many of its inhabitants, I 
was informed, are better known by some soubriquet than 
by their own proper designations. This propensity to 
calling things by Other names than the proper ones, also 
extends to the hills and valleys round about, as I shall 
have occasion to notice. 

As we walked down the town, the quaint appearance of 
the houses struck me very forcibly — very different were 
they from those in most of the New England towns. 
They had pointed gables, and irregular slanting roofs ; 
and in many of them the upper stories projected consider- 
ably over the basement apartments, in some such a way 
as the old houses are built at Chester, and in some of the 
old cities in England. They were usually decorated with 
red or brown paint, and had in consequence a sombre 
appearance, which contrasted strikingly with that of a few 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 115 

jauntilj-paintcd modern cottages in their neighborhood, 
which shone in all the glory of white fronts and green 
shades. 

The Sabbath morning was bright and beautiful, as if a 
' bridal between earth and sky ' had been celebrated at 
early dawn, and all creation was yet rejoicing at the 
happy union. At half-past eight the bell of the Lunatic 
Asylum, a large red brick building, close to which is the 
jail, swung out, and gave sonorous intimation that service 
was about to be held there. I repaired to the chapel, 
and seated myself amongst the melancholy congregation. 
Melancholy indeed, for besides the casual visitors, and the 
lunatics, it consisted of men of crime — prisoners from the 
adjoining jail. The service commenced by a hj-mn bemg 
given out. It was distinctly svmg by the choir, and the 
doleful tone I thought more calcuhited to depress the 
mind than to enliven or distract it. Then followed a 
prayer and a sermon, during which the mad people in- 
dulged in all sorts of antics, which it was at once amusing 
and distressing to witness. One poor creature, just* before 
me, sat all the time in an attitude of the deepest dejec- 
tion, his head bowed down, and liis hands clasped together. 
I never witnessed such an incarnation of misery. Near 
me a man indulged in the most grotesque contortions of 
face ; a third, a little way off, amused himself and those 
around him, who seemed to look with compassion on their 
brother madmen, by playing unheard tunes on an imagin- 
ary instrument. Many of them yawned prodigiously, and 
frequently an exclamation as if of impatience, or an oath 
would burst from the lips of some present. As soon as 
service had concluded, they leaped from their seats in a 
moment, as if the confinement had been verj'' irksome to 
them, and quickly left the chapel. 



116 A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 

There are several churches in Ipswich. The principal 
one is that of the First Religious Society, under the pas- 
toral care of the Rev. D. P. Kimball. Previously to the 
commencement of the service, I ascended to the tower of 
this old building, and from the bell-gallery had a fine view 
of the country round. Far away was the ocean, gleaming 
in the smishine, and toAvards it, crept like a silver serpent 
the pretty and picturesque Ip.swich river, crossed by its 
ancient bridge. A little way off" Avas Heart-break hill, a 
place to which some story of true love, Avhosc course, it 
would seem, did not ' run smooth,' gives its name. 
Nearer Avas Love Lane, and the Lover's Fountain. 
Away in the distance Avere seen hamlets and towns, dot- 
ting the green landscape ; indeed on every hand Avere 
scenes of verdurous beauty. But the bell gives note of 
preparation ; and lo ! from a hundred homes come forth 
young and old, grave and gay ; and in the peaceful sum- 
mer calm they approach, singly and in groups, tOAvards 
the sanctuary. 

Let us enter. It is an old place this, with its square 
psAvs, in Avhich are straight high-backed chairs, so char- 
acteristic of a former generation. The galleries are deep 
and elevated from the floor, more than is usual in modern 
erections. And Avhat a monstrous pulpit ! Big enough 
for a minister of ' forty-parson-power.' Look at the tAvist- 
ed railings of the banisters ; the quaint panels ; and 
above all, do not, indeed you cannot, fail to observe the 
mighty sounding-board, which is as big as the canopy of 
an ancient bedstead, and quite as elaborately carved. 
Over the preacher's head, on this sounding-board, is a 
star Avhich is splendidly gilt ; this star had a companion 
at one time, to keep it in countenance, in front of the 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 117 

pulpit ; but a strict deacon, fancying, perhaps, that the 
only star of the pulpit should be the preacher, had, some 
years ago, the gold scraped off! The interior of this 
pulpit is so capacious that a whole Presbytery could find 
' room enough and to spare ' in it ; indeed, I think a 
parsonage house to its occupant would be quite a Avork of 
supererogation. 

The Rev. Mr. Kimball, who has labored in Ipswich for 
many years, officiated. On the conclusion of the service 
I walked forth on the green, and whilst sitting on a piece 
of rock, which WTiitefield once occupied as a pulpit, look- 
ing, as an old man of the village said, ' Uke a flying angel,' 
I read from a pamphlet entitled, ' The Simple Cobbler of 
Agawam,* in America,' some curious particuhirs respects 
ing the old church and its founders. A note to this 
' Simple Cobbler,' which Avas written by the Rev. Nath- 
aniel Ward, the first pastor of the church, consists of the 
following extract from Johnson's ' Wonder-working Prov- 
idence of the Lord, printed in London in 1638, respecting 
the 9th church of Christ, gathered at Ipswich.' 

' This year (1635) came over a further supply of 
eminent instruments for furthering the admirable Avorkc 
of his, amongst whom the Reverend and Judicious servant 
of Christ, Mr. Nathaniel Ward, who took up his station 
at the Towne of Ipswitch, situated on a faire and delight- 
ful river, " in the Sagawanship or Earldom of AggaAvam." 
The peopling of this toAvn is by men of good ranke and 
quality, many of them having the yearly revenue of large 
lands in England before they came to this A\ilderness, but 
their estates being employed for Christ, and left in Banke 

* Agawam is the Indian name of Ipswich. 



118 A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 

as jou have formerly herde, tliej are well content till 
Christ shall be pleased to restore it again to them or 
theirs. 

' Their meeting-house is a very good prospect to a great 
part of the towne, and beautifully built. The Church of 
Christ here consists of about one hundred and sixty souls, 
being exact in their conversation, and free from the 
epidemicall diseases of all Reforming Churches, which 
under Christ is procured by their learned, pious, and 
orthodox ministry, as in due place (God willing) shall 
be declared. In the mean time look on the following 
meeters concerning that soldier of Christ, Nathaniel 
Ward: 

' Thou ancient sage — Come Ward among 
Christ's f'olke — take part in this great work of his. 
Why dost thou stand and gaze about so long 1 
Dost war in jest, when Christ in eai'nest is 1 
And liast thou armed with Aveapons for that end ; 
Thou hast prevailed, the licarts of many hitting, 

Although the Presbyter's impleasant jar 
And errors daily in their braines do come, 
Despayer not — Christ's truth they shall not hear, 
But with his help such dross from God refine. 
What man ! dost mean to lay thy trumpet downe 1 

Because thy son like warrior is become — 
Hold out, or sure less bright will lie thy crowne, 
'Till Death — Christ's servant's labor is not done.' 

This Nathaniel Ward Avas a quaint old writer, as his 
' Simple Cobbler,' which is fidl of shrewd humor and 
biting sarcasm, testifies. He occasionally versified, too. 
Take the following as a specimen : 

' So farewell, England old, 

If evil times ensue ; 
Let good men come to us, 
Wee '1 welcome them to new. 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 119 

And farewell, honored Friends, 

If happy days ensue, 
You '11 have some guests from hence, 

Pray welcome us to you. 

And fiirowell, .simple worldc. 

If thou 'It tliy conscience need, 
There is my last and awl, 

And a Shocm — Akcr's END.' 

On the old church green once stood the town gallows, 
the stocks and the whipping post. The hole in which the 
latter was placed, is still to be seen. Witchcraft, it 
seems, once flourished in Ipswich, and here were the 
unhappy individuals who were convicted of it, punished. 
This ancient church is about to be pulled down, and a 
new one is to be erected on its site — not before it is 
wanted, for the present church is in a most dilapidated 
condition. 

There is in Ipswich a noted female seminary, but I did 
not see anything of the fair scholars. Report speaks 
highly of it as an educational establishment, and I doubt 
not, with truth. The outside of the building is by no 
means attractive, whatever the excellences of the interior 
of the establishment may be. 

Most old places have their old stories, and Ips^vich is 
by no means an exception to the general rule. When- 
ever I visit such localities, I generally manage to pick 
out some old inhabitant, (I have never yet, though I 
sought diligently, discovered the ver-y oldest) from whom 
I learn the legends of the place. In some such way I 
heard from a garrulous old crone the following rude bal- 
lad rhymes, which are founded on the circumstance of 
an indentation, somewhat resembling a foot or hoof-print, 



120 A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 

being visible on one of the rocks close by the church, and 
which is said to have been caused by the devil, who 
alighted there after he had accomplished that favorite 
feat of his — ^jumping over a church. Here is the ballad, 
which the reader is at perfect liberty to believe or not, 
as he chooses. It has at least something of the smack 
of Sou they 's diabohc rhymes about it, and may be quite 
as true, for aught I know. 

THE DEVIL'S LEAP. 

Ding dong goeth Ipswitch bell, 
As if it were ringing a funeral knell ; 
From morning's dawn until evening gray 
Ipswitch bell has been ringing away ! 

The ministers and the elders stand 

Each with a bible and prayer book in hand ; 

And the sexton pnlls witli all his might, 

Eor the church is lit up with a brimstone light. 

The doors are barred, and the -ft-indows too. 

And the lamps in the pulpit are burning blue ; 

And a smell as of sulphur is sti'ong around, 

And the building shakes from the roof to the ground. 

They know that the Father of Evil strives 

To enter the church. So they pray for their lives, 

They list to the flap of Apollyon's wing. 

And the more he threatens, the louder they sing. 

The fiends are clustering on roof and spire. 

They peep through the panes at the frightened choir ; 

They race and gibber, and still the more 

They try to break in at the great front door. 

All through the night until morning light. 
The parson kept praying Avith all his might. 
Till at last the Evil One made a jump 
Over the church, and came down with a thump 



A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH. 121 

Of his foot on a rock, and still on the green 
On the stone may the print of his foot be seen ; 
And still on each Sunday the parson prays 
To be kept from the Devil and all his ways. 

And still Apollyon goes prowling about, 
Wliilst the elders work hard to keep him out ; 
And the sexton labors to scare him, as well, 
By the ringing and swinging of Ipswitch bell ! 



11 



122 A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 



A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 



' Sabbath in Boston — the Sabbath has come, 
The Exchange is hushed and the warehouses dumb; 
The marts are silent, the wharves are still, 
And the river glides at " its own sweet will." 
The church-bell swings in the morning air, 
Inviting to places of praise and prayer, 
And father, and mother, and children fair, 
To worship the Maker of all, repair ; 
All are keeping the Sabbath day.' 

Well and sweetly has one poet said of the sacred 
Sabbath time, 

' Sweet day, so calm, so fair, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky.' 

And solemnly has another, through a lengthened poem, 
discoursed of the ' day of rest.' Hundreds of writers 
have exercised their piety and their powers on Sabbatic 
themes, elevating our spirits by the hallowed associa- 
tions they have evoked, or warming our worldly hearts by 
so the fires of their heaven-born genius ; but we never 
felt, positively felt, the Sabbath-day influence, as during 
the first Sunday which we spent in the metropolis of 
New England. No, not even in the quiet country places 
where all is usually so still, that the music of the ' church- 



A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 123 

going bell ' is the only audible token that the time has 
arrived 

' Wlien the Sabbath summer chime 
Floats over wood and fell.' 

My thoughts have been directed to this subject by a 
\dsion which has just passed the window of the hotel 
where I am for a few days residing. A pretty substan- 
tial vision, too, the reader may exclaim, when I inform 
him that it consisted of a single individual, of burly pro- 
portions, habited in the peculiar cassock and clerical 
hat which distinguish the ecclesiastics of the Romish 
Church ; just such a personage, in fact, as one meets with 
at every turn in the streets of Ptoman Catholic cities. 
Indeed, the city in which I now am, may be described as 
one, with nearly as much propriety as Paris, Brussels, or 
Cologne. The huge cathedral, whose roof looms up and 
casts its broad shadoAv on the surrounding houses, with its 
lofty double towers, and its marble statue of Saint Peter 
in a niche of the front, stands as if it were the grim and 
gloomy monarch of churches, regarding the surrounding 
and humbler-looking edifices, with simple steeples, and 
unadorned towers, to do it homage. I am writing this 
Bostonian reminiscejice in Montreal, the bustle and ac- 
tivity on Avhose wharf, (some large steamers have just 
arrived,) strikingly contrast Avith the quiet of similar 
places in the city I have so recently left. 

Accustomed, as I have been for the last seven or eight 
months, to the chaste and simply-beautiful interiors of the 
New England churches, I was forcibly struck by the 
splendor of this French Catholic Cathedral, and the pomp 
of its ceremonia.1 observances. It is by far the largest 



124 A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 

place of public worship on the American continent, and in 
England I know of no such a spacious lookirig interior ; 
for in the abbey of Westminster, and the cathedral of 
Saint Paul's, the architectural divisions of the buildmgs 
into transepts, naves, &c., and the effects of the numerous 
pillars and arches, take, in a great degree, from the real 
magnitude. Here, however, is only one vast space, sur- 
rounded by a double tier of large and very deep galleries, 
and crowded at every inch of sitting and standing room 
as it was when I saw it ; and with its large painted win- 
dow, beneath which were three or four gorgeously-decked 
priests, mth scores of surpliced assistants, and many little 
white-clad boys, swinging to and fro silver censers, and 
ringing musically-toned bells at intervals. The effect was 
very strange and striking. 

From a pulpit, so far remote from the position I occu- 
pied that I could not see distinctly the features of its 
occupant, and my eyes are none of the worst, a priest 
addressed the vast audience in French ; but the attention 
of the congregation seemed to be divided between liim 
and pictures of saints, martyrs, and Madonnas, which 
hung around on the walls, and before which candles in 
gorgeous silver sconces shed a flickering light. It might 
have been very irreverent, but as X noticed the almost 
general illumination of the high altar and of these pic- 
tures, I could not help thinking of the Irishman who gave 
to a priest, as a reason for his leaving the Romish Church 
and embracing Protestantism, the reason that ' he could 
not afford to be a Papist any longer.' 

' Not afford it,' said the priest : ' why, barrin' a thrifle 
for confession, an' maybe now and then a tinpinny for a 
pather-an-ave, you 've nothin' to pay, Dennis. What do 
ye mane then by its bein' an expensive religion ? ' 



A SABBATH IN' BOSTON. 125 

* Och ! ' said Dennis, ' if it 's not, as ye say, expensive, 
it's wasteful, and that's as bad'^seein' ye hum so many 
candles hy daylight ! ' 

But to my subject. A Sabbath in Boston. How quiet, 
how simple, how almost primitive is it in its observances ! 
Let us, for the sake of illustration, suppose that ' another 
six days' work is done,' and that the ' very houses seem 
asleep,' as we survey the neighboring city from the win- 
dow of our quiet little sanctum in Roxbury. The sound 
of a church bell occasionally reaches us. There come on 
the ear no commercial sounds — no jarring tones, to dis- 
turb the heaven-descended calm — the myriad insects 
' around us ever yet unseen,' seem to have a shriller 
chirp, as if they too were vocal with praise to him who 
made them. Quietly, more (|uietly than usual, it would 
seem, the necessary household duties are performed ; the 
morning hymn is sung, and the family bible read, and the 
wonted service is performed, and then preparations are 
made for the public observance of the ' day of all other 
days the best.' 

It is some distance to the city church where the family 
usually resort, and so having done all things in decency 
and in order, let us step into the only omnibus Avhich 
runs between our village and the city to-day, for the con- 
venience of those whom delicacy of constitution or the 
feebleness of old age, prevents from walking ; those in 
whom the ' spirit is willing,' but ' the flesh weak.' We 
cannot, we fear, assert that in either case we come up to 
such a description- — at least we doubt whether, in the 
former part of the quotation, our spiritual longing is set 
forth, but none of us are all that we ought to be. At all 
events, we take advantage of the omnibus, and after with 
11* 



126 A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 

some difficulty adjusting ourself, we jog quietly on towards 
Boston. 

I hinted that I settled into my seat with some difficulty. 
Not that the vehicle was crowded over-much. By no 
means. Though few persons occupied it, it was quite 
full— -but it was as the fullness of a vessel containing 
whipt syllabub, or Italian cream, to that of another filled 
with half solid soap, or ' heavy wet.' I was in a cloudy, 
gauzy crowd, for on either side of me were two young 
ladies, whose fragile forms were almost lost in an infinity 
of grass cloth and flowing muslin. One of them, who 
was remarkably pretty, and whom I irreverently likened 
unto 

' The sweet portraits of the Virgin Mary,' 

when she stood up, resembled a note of admiration in a 
parenthesis of cloud, so lightly floated the gauzy materials 
around her fair form. The other lady seemed as though 
she had been cast in a large mould, and whilst yet soft, 
dipped in starch, and dried. As I sat between these two 
ladies, I carefully drew the tails of my coat beneath my 
arms, the elbows of which looked as if they were pinioned, 
and violently keeping my knees together, reduced myself 
to the smallest possible dimensions. But alas ! how diffi- 
cult it is to please. In spite of my efforts to avoid crump- 
ling the snowy lawn on either hand, an occasional pitch 
of the omnibus would jerk me first on one side and then 
on the other, and whichever way I inclined, a pair of 
reproachful-looking eyes would peer at me from beneath 
a pretty Parisian bonnet, and warn me off as if I had 
been a rattlesnake instead of a decently-disposed indi- 
vidual, who felt an unl)ounded love for un-bustled human 



A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 127 

nature. Opposite me Avas another laclj, so tiny-waistecl 
that I trembled every time the omnibus pulled up sharply, 
lest she should snap oif in the middle. Poor thing I as 
I looked at her pale face, and her pinched stomach, I 
ceased to wonder at the far-away devotees who inflict 
self-torture, and knew that Fashion Avas a no less inex- 
orable and cruel deity than Juggernaut. 

On we went, but all at once there was a sudden jerk, 
and a middle-aged lady mounted the steps — ' No room, 
ma'am,' said an easy-looking gentleman, with a very 
white cravat and a red fold of flesh instead of a collar 
turning over it. ' Not a bit,' said one of my lady neigh- 
bors, with an apprehensive glance at her petticoats. 

* We 're as full as we can be,' chimed in the other, and 
she bestowed a glance of mingled ferocity and disdain 
upon my coat, one skirt of which had dared to infringe 
on a fold of her dress. ' Yes, ma'am,' said I, in revenge, 

* there 's room for one more,' and I got up, and the mid- 
dle-aged lady, who was twice as big as I was, took my 
place, to the infinite chagrin of — the reader knows whom. 
The middle-aged lady, however, scarcely deserved the com- 
pliment paid her, for she took my seat quite as a matter 
of course, and not of courtesy — not even acknowledging 
the latter by a nod or a smile of that sort which good- 
breeding teaches. Down she dropped on the cushion, 
and out went I, and there was an end to the matter. 
Now I hope I am as polite as other people, and I greatly 
admire the deference which gentlemen pay to ladies in 
this country ; but really I think when the courtesy of 
gentlemen is, as it too often is, received without the most 
trifling acknowledg-ment, that the custom stands in some 
danger of wearing threadbare. Besides, the gentlemen 



128 A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 

do n't like, at least I do not, being defrauded of a pleas- 
ant smile, or a cheerful look — its a clear case of obtaining 
a good seat and not paying the price, and I therefore beg 
that all ladies will be more honest in future, and give the 
quid pro quo, if thej would have the men be patterns of 
politeness. 

Well, I joined the crowds, who were walking in orderly 
ranks through the streets towards the various places of 
worship, whilst the bells rang from many a church tower. 
I was much struck, on the occasion of my first Sunday in 
Boston, by the tolling of these bells, the Sabbath sounds 
were so entirely diiferent from those to which I had 
always been accustomed. I could not but think that at 
every church a funeral was about to take place, for the 
sonorous and measured sounds were just such as are 
usually sent forth in England, on sepulchral occasions. 
It quite cast a gloom over me ; indeed, the most vigorous 
and musical chiming of bells always has on me a sadden- 
ing influence — but this tolling to church seemed very 
dismal to one who hfid always before heard people chimed 
to the temple not made with hands. In many English 
cities and towns, the bells are so arranged that they play 
psalm tunes, and even at certain hours in every twenty- 
four, the Old Hundredth or some other measure floats 
over the peopled city. Hundreds of times have I lain 
awake in the calm, still midnight, and listened to the 
bells of the neighboring church, as they sent forth sounds 
which had become sacred by association. Even now, far 
distant from them, I hear them in dreams, and some- 
times, in the busy day, they fall ujwn my ear, and I am, 
though pacing the crowded streets of an American city, 
once more in the old house at home. 



A SABBATH IN BOSTON. 129 

Of the service and the sermon, time and space will not 
allow me to speak. . Suffice it to say that both were 
excellent. Nor may I tell of how the remainder of the 
day of rest was spent. But when it had closed, and I 
returned to my chamber, I could not but feel that this 
Sabbath in Boston had been one of the most delightful I 
had ever known. 



130 A STREET GOSSIP. 



A STREET GOSSIP. 



We cannot always be ' babbling of green fields,' or 
wandering by running brooks, on whose banks groAv the 
' pied wild flowers.' Nor is it always convenient to pay 
visits to certain institutions, in this hot, dog-day weather, 
when ranli odors rise from the steaming ground, and not 
being able to ascend in the dense atmosphere, remain 
under one's nose, a ' rank abomination.' At such times 
one knows not exactly Avhat to do or where to go. Let us 
saunter forth into the streets and hunt up what objects 
may chance to cross our path. 

It is early morning, not so early that the ' very houses 
seem asleep,' as Wordsworth says of that great heart of 
England, London, but just the time when a solitary 
shutter or two, (eyes of trade-houses,) begin to open, and 
give evidence of commercial life. The omnibi have not 
yet began their daily rattle, and the only vehicles which 
' disturb the echoes ' are quaint-looking milk carts, and 
perhaps a carryall with its cargo of early risers, who are 
bound for the suburban towns. Affectionate couples sally 
forth linked arm in arm to enjoy the fresh air of the 
morning and — their own conversation, whilst they are 
watched by the longing eyes of the bound 'prentices, Avho 
are compelled all unwillingly to put the windows in order 
Avhich are now in a state of deshabille. Slowly move 



A STKEET GOSSIP. 131 

along the caiivass-covered ice-carts, -with their refreshing 
looMng loads, and visions of creams to be, float before the 
stomach's eje. Noav come in the market vehicles, bear- 
ing stores of luscious fruit, delicious alike to the eye and 
palate — the downy peach, the glossy apple, or the soft 
melting pear. Tomatoes in all their colored glories lie 
side by side with the delicate green ears of corn, which- 
look like vegetable babies lapt in coverlets of moonhght- 
green leaves. Beans, white as pearls, glitter in the sun- 
shine, and great indolent-looking squashes keep company 
with fragrant melons. Bah ! whilst we have been feast- 
ing our eyes, a water cart has drenched our pants, so we 
Avill step into the market until they have recovered their 
wonted glossiness. 

There is something delightfully bustling and busy about 
a market when the stalls are all filled, and the rudy faces 
of the venders are wreathed with smiles, as ' customers 
come in.' Many a time and oft have we, in the ' old 
country,' risen before the lark for the purpose of strolling 
in Covent Garden Market w'hilst the bloom was on the 
peach and the lustre on the flower. And a beautiful and 
a cheerful thing it was to gaze on that one spot of ' sunny 
greenery,' as Leigh Hunt hath it, in the very heart of 
the mighty metropolis. It was in reahty an oasis in the 
great desert of London, for to a lover of the country the 
capital is the most desolate place imaginable. But we arc 
now in New and not in Old England, and must confine 
our attention to the good things in view, instead of dwell- 
ing on those retrospective glories of beef and mutton 
which once gladdened our optics. 

Talking of beef, we are, whilst pausing before this 
specimen of Yankee grazing, forced to admit, much 



132 A STREET GOSSIP. 

' against the grain,' for there is a lurking liking in our 
gastronomic organ for the ' roast beef of Old England,' a 
sort of national pride in bovine matters, pardonable we 
sincerely hope — we say we are forced to allow that it 
would be difficult to find its superior in any stall in the 
'fast anchored isle,' even had Prince Albert, who has 
recently taken to farming, ' bred and fed ' it on his own 
royal demesne. As dear, delightful Ohver Goldsmith 
says in his ' Retaliation,' so say we of the splendid piece 
of that meat which maketli fat the body of man — 

' Those ribs were a picture for painters to study, 
The fat was so white and the lean was so ruddy.' 

How miserable it used to be to watch, in the markets of 
London at Christmas time, the looks of the hungry poor 
at the prodigal supplies of meat' — lean, wretched-looking 
creatures who might be supposed to parody Hood's song 
of the shirt in some such way as this : 

Meat — meat — meat ! 

Sui-passingly fat and fine — 
And meat, meat, meat, 

Sirloin and baron and chine ! 
Buttock and rib and steak — 

Its oh ! I 'd as soon be a Turk 
As live without meat in a Christian land, 

And yet never a day of work. 

Beef — beef — beef! 

'Til the tears stand in my eyes. 
Beef and mutton and veal, 

Wliicli has gained some silver prize ; 
Sirloin, saddle and leg. 

Or steak with its savory steam ; 
Over the sight I become entranced 

And have a meal in a dream. 



A STREET GOSSIP. 133 

But why do I talk of beef 

Who have n't so much as a bone 1 
I only should think of ' skin and grief,' 

For both are, alas ! my own, 
For both are, alas ! my own. 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
Oh ! God ! that meat should be so dear, 

And labor so plenty and cheap. 

Beef — beef — beef! 

In the long December night. 
Beef — beef — beef, 

Wherever the eye may light ; 
And over the tempting fat 

Pieces of holly-bush lie, 
As if to show off the animal's back 

To me who cannot buy. 

Happy indeed is it for this highly favored city of 
Boston that such scenes are not to be witnessed here in 
the Quincy Market, and God grant they never may be. 

But evening is the most interesting time for him who 
is fond of observing life as it is, to visit a market. Then 
he may see the poor providing for the wants of their 
families — cheapening here, looking wistfully there, and 
prying into every corner for bargains — but Ave have been 
already too long in one place. Let us ramble into State 
street, where merchants ' most do congregate.' 

Ah ! a crowd round a man who, with a semi-sanctified 
face, eyes violently shut, and warily opened, is holding 
forth, in doggerel rhyme, on the merits of his razor strops. 
Some of his verdant listeners imagine, in the innocence 
of their hearts, that he is composing his verse as he 
repeats it, and that the blinkings and winkings are occa- 
sioned by the mental agonies of his poetical parturition. 
No such thing. The individual with the amazingly 
12 



134 A STREET GOSSIP. 

uncommon cognomen of ' Smith,' has a ' few more left ' 
of rhymes as well as strops ; and he manages to dispose 
of a considerable quantity of both. He is quite a popular 
personage too, and has arrived at the honor of being 
dramatized at the Washington Theatre — his profile 
adorns the city walls, and like all other great men he 
has got into the newspapers. A crowd round one man 
is a rather novel sight here ; in London streets you can- 
not, or could not before the new police were so vigilant, 
move ten yards without coming on some obstruction 
caused by itinerant ballad-singers, or dreadful murder 
manufacturers. This reminds me of one of my last walks 
up Holborn, and of a verse I heard chanted by a street 
vocalist, which has remained fixed in the tablet of mem- 
ory, whilst other matters of more importance have been 
rubbed out long ago. The singer, or rather reciter, was 
a great hulking fellow with a stentorian voice. He was 
reading a ballad, which recounted the daring and vahant 
deeds of Richard Turpin, Esq., a gentleman who flour- 
ished on Hounslow Heath and afterwards died at Tybum 
— a victim to his chivalric feats on the road. As I 
passed him, the following incident was related — it re- 
ferred, I suppose, to the stopping of a coach by a high- 
wayman, and the consequences thereof. How graphic 
is the description, and how delicately is the catastrophe 
alluded to : 

' The coachman, he not liking the job, 

Set off at a full gal-Zo/i ,• 
But Dick got a couple of balls in liis nob, 
And punvailed on him to stop.' 

I wish now I had bought the whole song ; but alas ! the 
golden opportunity is gone, with many more, forever. 



A STREET GOSSIP. 135 

Twelve o'clock, and all round the old State House, 
which with its ancient and quamt gallery, and orna- 
mented roof, stands a monument of olden time, are 
groups of men of all conditions in seemingly earnest 
conversation. As we elbow our way through them, 
' Dollars, dollars, dollars,' greet our ears. ' Stocks,' and 
' Fluids ' are mysteriously whispered. There are grave 
nods and significant shakes of the head, and infinitely 
impressive pointings of fingers into the palms of hands ; 
and breeches pockets seem all alive with the fidgetty 
fingers, which are doing immense business within them. 
In and out of banks and brokers' offices, go busy men, 
to hive and to abstract the golden honey' — but what for 
a moment abstracts their attention ? Listen ! Music is 
pealing, and in all their martial glory comes on a military 
company, with banners flying, swords gleaming, and bay- 
onets bristling — on they come, a band of fine-looking, 
fearless men ; whilst from window and balcony fair eyes 
look down upon those who, for the day, have 

'Left tlicir homes to follow the diiim.' 

Here we arc in Washington street, but let us turn to 
the left, and stroll up Cornhill, for the sake of the old 
book shops there. Talk of splendid bookstores, where 
the modern-bound novelettes, in all the impertinency of 
cloth and gilt, unblushingly stand, although they contain 
nothing in comparison to what may be found in plainer 
attire — they are as nothing in our estimation to an old 
book stall, where you may stand on the pavement by the 
hour, and perchance ferret out from amongst the piles 
of dusty tomes some black letter treatise, some ancient 
friend, ' iron clasped and timber bound.' By rare good 



136 A STREET GOSSIP. 

luck we may stumble on a ' unique copy,' which some 
poor soul had parted with as if it had been old gold — 
or an autograph, which the cunning ' old book-seller ' 
(ay, and these sellers of old books have prying eyes) 
had overlooked, or perchance knew nothing about — or 
an original edition may be purchased ' for a song.' Ay, 
it is a real pleasure to stroll into the old book shops. 

' All the world and his wife,' are now promenading in 
Washington street, and so we will smi ourselves on the 
fashionable side as well as the best of them. What a 
host of gaily-dressed ladies ! It is of no manner of use 
to try to look at anything else whilst they are about, so 
we will turn off into the pretty town-and-country-in-one- 
street, called after the pleasant season which is now so 
nearly gone. Houses and trees ! how strange the combi- 
nation looked at first to us ; and what would a cockney 
say to a green leaf in the city ? Summer street is a 
favorite thoroughfare of mine, but we must not linger 
here, and so returning on its shady side, and after gazing 
for a few minutes on that substantial gothic structure, 
Trinity Church, we will re-cross the chief thoroughfare 
of the city, and passing from Summer to Winter street, 
reach the Common, about which we have before now 
walked, and rest ourselves beneath the shade of those 
noble trees, on one of the considerately placed granite 
seats. 

In all our walks we have not met one beggar, or one 
disorderly person, or heard one improper word uttered. 
A moral place is this Boston, and strangely is it so when 
compared with other cities. Were we about to found a 
new town, (so far as correctness of conduct is concerned) 
we would take the City of Notions as a model, for we 



A STREET GOSSIP. 137 

verily believe that in point of intelligence and propriety 
it has nowhere its equal. This is not said as an idle 
compliment, but uttered as the consequence of a rooted 
conviction, the fruit of pretty close observation. Hallo ! 
what is this ? — a bloated, sottish-looking man drops 
heavily on the seat beside us. His words are unintel- 
ligible, and his actions indecent. Ladies avoid him, and 
gentlemen court not his company. He has been taking 
in a supply of the fluids set down in the ' famous list ' 
Willis had ' some thoughts ' about introducing into Lon- 
don. He is, in short, drunk ! Alas ! alas ! my ' lauda- 
tion ' of Boston must be pronounced with a qualification. 
On a future occasion w^e shall resume our stroll. 



12* 



138 MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 



MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 



Before we examine the Mills let us take a ramble on 
the banks of the picturesque river, whose waters are such 
a source of wealth to the ' City of Spindles.' This stream 
is too often neglected by tourists who visit Lowell, the 
factories absorbing all their attention ; but I can tell them 
that there are few objects more interesting in appearance 
and association. 

I had been dining with a gentleman who is extensively 
connected with the factories, one day last week, at his 
beautiful residence near the town, and was contemplating 
from his veranda, or rather piazza, the river which ran 
far below, when I expressed a regret that strangers like 
myself were compelled during their stay to be cooped up 
in the hot, dry city. ' Ah ! ' said he, ' you must go to 
the Stone House.' Now I know no more of the ' Stone 
House ' than I have known or hope to know of that ugly 
edifice with which Avriters of the ' Jack Sheppard ' school 
have familiarized us, yclept the ' Stone Jug,' but on in- 
quiry I learned that it was an hotel, situated on the banks 
of the river, within half a mile of the town, and thither I 
determined to take up my quarters. 

Now I am not going to write a puff or a paragraph 
laudatory of this ' Stone House,' for the mere sake of 



MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 139 

doing so ; but I mention the place because I know many 
will be glad, as I was, to find that a delightful place of 
summer residence exists in a locality quite near to Boston. 
I know of no place so pleasant to reside in for a few days 
or weeks — and for my own part I should infinitely prefer 
it to any of the sea-bathing places to Avhich people fly from 
the City of Notions. 

I a-m writing this in my spacious chamber, from the 
window of which I look down on Pawtucket Falls, which 
are brawling along just below me. Opposite is the pretty 
and picturesque little village of Dracut, with its church 
steeple peeping up from amidst silver-leaved poplars and 
quivering elms. The bridge wliich communicates with 
the Concord Mammoth road is in sight, and far below 
towards the city, the river, released from its channel of 
rifted rocks, spreads out into a kind of lake, which is 
fringed from the water's edge upwards Avith living green. 
A bend of the stream conceals the factories, so that they 
may as well be a thousand miles oif. Opposite me, the 
precipitous banks are wooded with graceful trees, and 
indented with little bays fitted for fairy fleets to anchor 
in. Far away in the blue distance are hills faintly shad- 
owed out, and over all this charming landscape hangs a 
sky of cloudless blue. Such is the prospect I enjoy 
without qviitting my chair. 

The Pawtucket Falls long have enjoyed and still enjoy, 
the reputation of being a fine fishing ground. This very 
morning a huge salmon was drawn from the stream Avhere 
it runs by our garden, and at dinner we had an oppor- 
tunity of dissecting him. Here, therefore, the Indians 
for a long time lingered, unwilling to resign the advan- 



140 MUSINGS BY THE MERKIMACK. 

tages afforded by the fishing ; but they gradually retired 
before the tread of the white man, and now the race has 
disappeared from these pathways forever. It is no un- 
common thing to find Indian relics in the neighborhood. 
Since I have been here, arrow heads have been discovered, 
and other relics may doubtless be found. 

Before the hour of public worship on the last Sabbath 
morning, a friend, well acquainted with the history of 
the place, accompanied me in a short stroll about the 
neighborhood. Having arrived at the bridge, just below 
the Pawtucket Falls, I paused to survey the beautiful 
scene. The dam just above us looked more picturesque 
than such contrivances generally do, in consequence of 
the jagged and numerous rocks which rose from the bed 
of the river, and between which the waters went boiling 
and hissing on their course, flinging their spray to the 
sunbeams. Above the dam the waters spread out a broad 
smooth surface, strikingly contrasting with the turbulence 
below. Some graceful boats on the surface of the lake 
added not a little to the beauty of the scene, wliich must 
have been still more beautiful before Art had checked the 
progress of the waters, and when the Indians alone in 
their light canoes glanced across the bosom of the stream. 

My companion, who it seems had enjoyed peculiar op- 
portunities of learning the early history of the place, 
mformed me that in olden time strawberries were so abun- 
dant, that when the ground about Lowell was parcelled 
out into lots, laws were made that no one should pick 
' strawbres ' (as the fruit was then spelled) on his neigh- 
bor's lot ; not that the ' strawbres ' were of any value, but 
the grass, which was not so abundant, was. It was also 



MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 141 

enacted that ' if one person should see another picking 
" strawbres " he should incur the penalty of a fine for the 
omission to inform against him ; and once a lawsuit was 
actually tried to decide whether such information was 
compulsory or not. The same gentleman also showed me 
some origmal Indian deeds of sale of land ■ — the signatures 
of the children of the forest being hieroglyphical. There 
were the rude drawings of their designators, such as the 
bounding elk, the great snake, the fox, and others, and I 
looked on these primitive deeds with no little interest. 

Indian stories, always so attractive, are still told in 
these parts by old people. It was here at the head of 
the falls, that Captain John Ford, celebrated in the annals 
of Indian warfare, resided for many years, and his house, 
somewhat modernized to be sure, yet remains. He was 
a personage of considerable importance in his day •— I 
believe he w^as governor of the region round about — - and 
manifested sagacity little inferior to that of the Indians 
themselves in his battles with them. An Indian trail to 
him was a thing not to be neglected, and from the fact of 
his having so often escaped the bullet and the arrow, the 
red skins superstitiously believed him invulnerable, and 
attempted to despatch their great enemy by other means. 

One day as Ford was walking in the woods, near his 
house, he chanced to part with his companion. Two 
Indians, observing him alone and unarmed, surrounded 
him. One of them was a naked savage, of monstrous 
proportions, and greased all over — the other Indian went 
in pursuit of Ford's companion. Ford could not get a 
hold on his slippery antagonist, and for some time the 
struggle was fearfully unequal. Over and over they 



142 MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 

rolled, the savage making every effort to get at his knife, 
and Ford warily preventing him. At length, whilst they 
were struggling, the handle of the weapon projected a 
little from its sheath. Ford seized it in an instant, and 
buried the blade in the Indian's heart, .who turned over 
and died immediately. The conqueror then went to the 
assistance of his friend, whom he found nearly exhausted ; 
but his opportune arrival turned the balance in his favor, 
and having slaughtered their two enemies, they returned 
victorious to their home. 

Having crossed the bridge, we turned off to the right 
hand, and after a delightful walk through the woods we 
came again to the banks of the river, whose bed was still 
filled up with masses of rifted rock. Here I was not a little 
interested in surveying the ruins of Captain Ford's old 
mill. Not much of it remained, to be sure, but there was 
enough to indicate what rude machinery was employed in 
former times. To get to the ruins we were compelled to 
cross an old rickety bridge, or rather the remains of it, 
for only a plank or two of the original pathway to the mill 
remains. Here Ford experienced many escapes whilst 
engaged in his occupation of sawing wood for himself and 
his brother colonists. 

One day as he was employed in this vocation he noticed 
a solitary Indian prowling about the hills in his immediate 
neighborhood. He was wrapped up in his blanket, and 
appeared to be unarmed, and Ford, abating a little of his 
usual caution, supposing that he was one of those who 
often came down to the falls to procure fish, went on with 
his work without particularly noticing him. For three or 
four succeeding days the Indian paid visits to the place, 



MUSINGS BY THE MErvRIMACK. 143 

each time venturing nearer and nearer to the mill. One 
morning he came near the door, and made peaceful signs 
to Ford, who went to the bridge of the mill, and stood 
awhile returning the signals. After some time a breeze 
partially blew aside the blanket of the Indian, and Ford 
saw in an instant that the savage grasped a knife the 
blade of which was pressed against the inner side of his 
arm. Cunning was now to be met with cunning. Nearer 
and nearer approached the Indian, still smiling, towards 
Ford, when the latter stepped for a moment backward, 
and suddenly seized an iron bar, with which he used to 
shift the logs, and which most fortunately was outside the 
door. The Indian, on observing this, sprang towards the 
centre of the bridge, which he had scarcely reached, 
when Ford met him. In an instant the knife of the sav- 
age was raised, and in the act of striking, when Ford's 
iron bar was dexterously swung. The Indian, with a 
shriek, was precipitated into the boiling surge below, and 
his corpse dashed every instant against jagged rocks, and 
was finally swept far out of sight by the swift waters of 
Pawtucket Falls. 

The Avoods around this neighborhood are dehditful 
retreats during these hot July days ; and when one wea- 
ries of lying, like melancholy Jacques, in the forest shade, 
the visitor to this place has other sources of amusement. 
The other evening, piloted by ' mine host,' the Major of 
the ' Stone House,' I made one of a fishing party. 
Launching our little boat above the falls, we skimmed 
over the broad surface of the river, A\hich here is really 
lake-like, and then resting our arms we dropped our Hues 
into the crystal depths, much to the confusion of sundry 



144 MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 

perch whom we claimed as our spoils. Sport was abun* 
dant, for avb never pulled at a line without discerning far 
down in the water something like a lively and large 
globule of quicksilver at its end. Then when our bas- 
ket was well stocked with scaly provender, we moored 
our shallop, and having lighted a fire in the woods, we 
broiled our piscatorial trophies, and around a table formed 
from an old stump, in plateless beatitude, we acted the 
axiom that ' fingers were made before forks.' No an- 
chovy, no catsup, no butter, no sauce but hunger ; and 
so the perch had the true fishy flavor, which epicures 
unwittingly destroy. Nor was this the whole of our lux- 
m-y, for as we lay on the grass ' up rose the yellow moon,' 
silvering the current, which looked so cool and so tempting 
that with one consent we divested ourselves of our outside 
casings, and in a trice were splashing in the moonUt 
Merrimack. Tritons amongst its minnows ! Whether Ave 
scared the Naiads or not remaineth a mystery. 

He that chanceth to be in a musing mood whilst here, 
may indulge his ' pensive pleasure ' by a stroll into the 
graveyai'd near by the bridge. It is a square oblong 
place, enclosed hj palings, and filled with the fathers of 
the village and their descendants. It wants the broad 
church shadow to rest upon the dwellings of the dead ; 
and there are no ancient trees to revive by association 
the memories of those who once walked beneath them to 
the house of God. In this respect there is nothing like 
the English village churchyard — such a one as that of 
Stoke PogiSj in which Gray wrote his celebrated Elegy. 
Pleasant are those quaint old epitaphs, and the rude 
churchyard poetry which is graven upon perishing stones 



MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 145 

— frail recorders of love almost as frail ! And delightful 
is it on the Sabbath summer's morn to see ancient people, 
before church time, sitting on the flat stones, and hear 
them discourse of those who died long ago, little dream- 
ing, simple souls ! that they are themselves so near to 
the house appointed for all living, that their lengthened 
shadows already fall upon their own graves. One of the 
pleasantest churchyards I know of is in the Isle of Wight, 
and many years ago I was sauntering among its graves, 
when I saw a lady in deep mourning, with a little girl, 
sitting on a tombstone. The former was reading a book 
to the latter, who was looking with tearful eyes into her 
mother's face. When they turned away from the spot, 
I saw that they had been looking on the tomb of the 
' Dairyman's Daughter,' whose simple epitaph was 
engraved on the head-stone. That lady was the Duchess 
of Kent, and the little child was the Princess Victoria, 
now a Queen, on whose dominions the sun never sets. 
Perhaps the book the lady Avas reading was the delightful 
and aifecting narrative of Leigh Richmond. Striking 
was the contrast in the condition of the sleeper and her 
who watched by her grave— the one a peasant's daughter 
in her dreamless slumbers, the other a child who ere 
many years had passed over her head, was to take her 
place amongst the rulers of the nations ! The humbler of 
the two had won her palm, and was wearing her crown, 
whilst the ' daughter of a royal line ' Avas fated to en- 
dure the perilous splendor of dominion, and become the 
mother of more kings, ere she should lie down in the 
vaults of Windsor. 

13 



146 MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 

But tliis is a digression. There are few monuments of 
great interest in this little churchyard of Dracut. I 
rambled about it, hoping to find Captain Ford's grave, 
but without success, and I am informed that most prob- 
ably the Indian exterminator lies in the churchyard of 
a neighboring parish. One tombstone will not fail to 
attract the visitor's attention. It is a tall and thick slab 
of white marble, on which is engraven in monstrous 
letters the names of the good man and his spouse who 
sleep below, and who rejoiced in the names of Jonathan 
and Dolly — the said given names being so conspicuously 
carved in relief, occupying a whole line each, that the 
' Varnum ' which follows them is scarcely noticed. There 
are, as usual, laudatory lines by husbands to deceased 
wives, and pathetic poems to the memories of little chil- 
dren. I also observed one quotation from Young, and in 
two instances those most appropriate of all inscriptions on 
tombstones — verses from scripture. 

In conclusion, let me urge those who would seek a 
quiet retreat, to try a week or two's sojourn at the 
' Stone House ' aforesaid. It is within ten minutes' Avalk 
of the Lowell depot, and when there one is as cool in the 
hottest summer day as possible. The house is well ap- 
pointed, and scrupulously clean. Every room is well 
ventilated, and from the balconies the most charming 
prospects are to be observed ; and let not the visitor fail, 
as he enters the hall, to notice the tail of a certain Avon- 
derful horse Avhicli hangs framed and glazed in all the 
glory of gilt and scarlet velvet. The ' Major,' and not I, 
must tell its tale. But there are so many attractions 
here that I will not attempt to recount them, lest I should 



MUSINGS BY THE MERRIMACK. 147 

be accused of writing in the style of George Bobbins — 
so, comfortably resigning myself to the claims of a luxuri- 
ous rocking chair, I lean back with half-closed eyes, now 
watching the waters as they shoot down the falls below 
me, and now gazing on the circling blue rays which 
ascend from my cigar, and fancying them frames wherein 
are magic pictures. But lo ! the sun has gone down in 
all his glory, and a purple haze sheds a radiance where his 
path had been — that, too, is becoming indistinct, and the 
evening star is shining like a jewel, as she is. All is 
still but the rushing river. So ' to bed, to bed ' — and 
to-morrow for the Mills ! 



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